i\U         J. 


PLAIN    TALES 


FROM 


THE    HILLS 


BY 

RUDYARD  KIPLING 


NEW  YORK 

MANHATTAN    PRESS 
474  WEST  BROADWAY 


CONTENTS. 


FAGB. 

Lispeth • 

Three  and — an  Extra 8 

Thrown  Away •  *4 

Miss  Youghal's  Sais 26 

Yoked  with  an  Unbeliever. 34 

False  Dawn 4° 

The  Rescue  of  Pluffles 51 

Cupid's  Arrows .  •  58 

The  Three  Musketeers 64 

His  Chance  in  Life 72 

Watches  of  the  Night 70, 

The  Other  Man 86 

Consequences 91 

The  Conversion  of  Aurelian  McGoggin 9& 

The  Taking  of  Lungtungpen 105 

A  Germ  Destroyer 113 

Kidnapped 120 

The  Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly 127 

In  the  House  of  Suddhoo 134 

His  Wedded  Wife 145 

The  Broken-Link  Handicap 152 

Beyond  the  Pale 159 

In  Error 167 

A  Bank  Fraud 17 3, 

Tods' Amendment 182 


iv  Contents 

The  Daughter  of  the  Regiment 190 

In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth 197 

Pig 205 

The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars 214 

The  Bronckhorst  Divorce  Case 227 

Venus  Annodomini 234 

The  Bisara  of  Pooree 240 

The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows 247 

The  Madness  of  Private  Ortheris 256 

The  Story  of  Muhammad  Din 266 

On  the  Strength  of  a  Likeness . :- 271 

Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office 279 

By  Word  of  Mouth 286 

To  be  Filed  for  Reference 292 


PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 


LISPETH. 

Look,  you  have  cast  put  Love  i    What  Gods  are  these 

You  bid  me  please  ? 
The  Three  in  One,  the  One  in  Three  ?    Not  sol 

To  my  own  Gods  I' go. 
It  may  be  they  shall  give  me  greater  ease 
Than  your  cold  Christ  and  tangled  Trinities. 

The  Convert. 

SHE  was  the  daughter  of  Sonoo,  a  Hill-man, 
and  Jad6h  his  wife.  One  year  their  maize  failed, 
anff  two  bears  spent  the  night  in  their  only 
poppy-field  just  above  the  Sutlej  Valley  on  the 
Kotgarh  side  ;  so,  next  season,  they  turned  Chris- 
tian, and  brought  their  baby  to  the  Mission  to 
be  baptized.  The  Kotgarh  Chaplain  christened 
her  Elizabeth,  and  "  Lispeth "  is  the  Hill  or 
pahari  pronunciation. 

Later,  cholera  came  into  the  Kotgarh  Valley 
and  carried  off  Sonoo  and  Jade"h,  and  Lispeth 
became  half-servant,  half-companion,  to  the  wife 
of  the  then  Chaplain  of  Kotgarh.  This  was  after 
the  reign  of  the  Moravian  missionaries,  but  be- 
fore Kotgarh  had  quite  forgotten  her  title  of 
"  Mistress  of  the  Northern  Hills." 

Whether  Christianity  improved  Lispeth,  or 
whether  .the  gods  of  her  own  people  would  have 
done  as  much  for  her  under  any  circumstances. 

l 


2  Lispeth 

I  do  not  know;  but  she  grew  very  lovely.  When 
a  Hill  girl  grows  lovely,  she  is  worth  traveling 
fifty  miles  over  bad  ground  to  look  upon.  Lis- 
peth had  a  Greek  face — one  of  those  faces  people 
paint  so  often,  and  see  so  seldom.  She  was  of  a 
pale,  ivory  color  and,  for  her  race,  extremely 
tall.  Also,  she  possessed  eyes  that  were  won- 
derful ;  and,  had  she  not  been  dressed  in  the 
abominable  print-cloths  affected  by  Missions,  you 
would,  meeting  heron  the  hillside  unexpectedly, 
have  thought  her  the  original  Diana  of  the 
Romans  going  out  to  slay. 

Lispeth  took  to  Christianity  readily,  and  did 
not  abandon  it  when  she  reached  womanhood, 
as  do  some  Hill  girls.  Her  own  people  hated 
her  because  she  had,  they  said,  become  a  mem~ 
sahib  and  washed  herself  daily  ;  and  the  Chap- 
lain's wife  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  her. 
Somehow,  one  cannot  ask  a  stately  goddess,  five 
foot  ten  in  her  shoes,  to  clean  plates  and  dishes. 
So  she  played  with  the  Chaplain's  children  and 
took  classes  in  the  Sunday  Schoo^and  read  all 
the  books  in  the  house,  and  grew  more  and  more 
beautiful,  like  the  Princesses  in  fairy  tales.  The 
Chaplain's  wife  said  that  the  girl  ought  to  take 
service  in  Simla  as  a  nurse  or  something  "gen- 
teel." But  Lispeth  did  not  want  to  take  service. 
She  was  very  happy  where  she  was. 

When  travelers — there  were  not  many  in  those 
years — came  in  to  Kotgarh,  Lispeth  used  to  lock 
herself  into  her  own  room  for  fear  they  might 
take  her  away  to  Simla,  or  somewhere  out  into 
the  unknown  world. 

One  day,  a  few  months  after  she  was  seventeen 
years  old,  Lispeth'  went  out  for  a  walk.  She  did 
not  walk  in  the  manne^  of  English  ladies — a 


Lispeth  3 

mile  and  a  half  out,  and  a  ride  back  again.  She 
covered  between  twenty  and  thirty  miles  in  her 
little  constitutionals,  all  about  and  about,  be- 
tween Kotgarh  and  Narkunda.  This  time  she 
came  back  at  full  dusk,  stepping  down  the  break- 
neck descent  into  Kotgarh  with  something  heavy 
in  her  arms.  The  Chaplain's  wife  was  dozing  in 
the  drawing-room  when  Lispeth  came  in  breath- 
ing hard  and  very  exhausted  with  her  burden. 
Lispeth  put  it  down  on  the  sofa,  and  said  sim- 
ply : — "  This  is  my  husband.  I  found  him  on 
the  Bagi  Road.  He  has  hurt  himself.  We  will 
nurse  him,  and  when  he  is  well,  your  husband 
shall  marry  him  to  me." 

This  was  the  first  mention  Lispeth.  had  ever 
made  of  her  matrimonial  views,  and  the  Chap- 
lain's wife  shrieked  with  horror.  However,  the 
man  on  the  sofa  needed  attention  first.  He  was 
a  young  Englishman,  and  his  head  had  been  cut 
to  the  bone  by  something  jagged.  Lispeth  said 
she  had  found  him  down  the  khud,  so  she  had 
brought  him  in*  He  was  breathing  queerly  and 
was  unconscious. 

He  was  put  to  bed  and  tended  by  the  Chaplain, 
who  knew  something  of  medicine  ;  and  Lispeth 
waited  outside  the  door  in  case  she  could  be  use- 
ful. She  explained  to  the  Chaplain  that  this  was 
the  man  she  meant  to  marry  ;  and  the  Chaplain 
and  his  wife  lectured  her  severely  on  the  impro- 
priety of  her  conduct.  Lispeth  listened  quietly, 
and  repeated  her  first  proposition.  It  takes  a 
great  deal  of  Christianity  to  wipe  out  uncivilized 
Eastern  instincts,  such  as  falling  in  love  at  first 
sight.  Lispeth,  having  found  the  man  she  wor- 
shiped, did  not  see  why  she  should  keep  silent 
as  to  her  choice.  She  h§d  no  intention  of  being 


4  Lispeth 

sent  away,  either.  She  was  going  to  nurse  that 
Englishman  until  he  was  well  enough  to  marry 
her.  This  was  her  little  program. 

After  a  fortnight  of  slight  fever  and  inflamma- 
tion, the  Englishman  recovered  coherence  and 
thanked  the  Chaplain  and  his  wife,  and  Lispeth 
— especially  Lispeth — for  their  kindness.  He 
was  a  traveler  in  the  East,  he  said — they  never 
talked  about  "  globe-trotters "  in  those  days, 
when  the  P.  &  O.  fleet  was  young  and  small — 
and  had  come  from  Dehra  Dun  to  hunt  for  plants 
and  butterflies  among  the  Simla  hills.  No  one 
at  Simla,  therefore,  knew  anything  about  him. 
He  fancied  he  must  have  fallen  over  the  cliff 
while  stalking  a  fern  on  a  rotten  tree-trunk,  and 
that  his  coolies  must  have  stolen  his  baggage 
and  fled.  He  thought  he  would  go  back  to  Simla 
v/hen  he  was  a  little  stronger.  He  desired  no 
more  mountaineering. 

He  made  small  haste  to  go  away,  and  re- 
covered his  strength  slowly.  Lispeth  objected  to 
being  advised  either  by  the  Chaplain  or  his  wife  ; 
so  the  latter  spoke  to  the  Englishman,  and  told 
him  how  matters  stood  in  Lispeth's  heart.  He 
laughed  a  good  deal,  and  said  it  was  very  pretty 
arid  romantic,  a  perfect  idyl  of  the  Himalayas  ; 
but,  as  he  was  engaged  to  a  girl  at  Home,  he 
fancied  that  nothing  would  happen.  Certainly 
he  would  behave  with  discretion.  He  did  that. 
Still  he  found  it  very  pleasant  to  talk  to  Lispeth, 
and  walk  with  Lispeth,  and  say  nice  things  to 
her,  and  call  her  pet  names  while  he  was  getting 
strong  enough  to  go  away.  It  meant  nothing  at 
all  to  him,  and  everything  in  the  world  to  Lis- 
peth. She  was  very  happy  while  the  fortnight 
lasted,  because  she  had  found  a  man  to  love. 


Lispeth  5 

Being  a  savage  by  birth,  she  took  no  trouble 
to  hide  her  feelings,  and  the  Englishman  was 
amused.  When  he  went  away,  Lispeth  walked 
with  him  up  the  Hill  as  far  as  Narkunda,  very 
troubled  and  very  miserable.  The  Chaplain's 
wife,  being  a  good  Christian  and  disliking  any- 
thing in  the  shape  of  fuss  or  scandal— Lispeth 
was  beyond  her  management  entirely — had  told 
the  Englishman  to  tell  Lispeth  that  he  was  com- 
ing back  to  marry  her.  "  She  is  but  a  child  you 
know,  and,  I  fear,  at  heart  a  heathen,"  said  the 
Chaplain's  wife.  So  all  the  twelve  miles  up  the 
hill  the  Englishman,  with  his  arm  around  Lis- 
peth's  waist,  was  assuring  the  girl  that  he  would 
come  back  and  marry  her  ;  and  Lispeth  made 
him  promise  over  and  over  again.  She  wept  on 
the  Narkunda  Ridge  till  he  had  passed  out  of 
sight  along  the  Muttiani  path. 

Then  she  dried  her  tears  and  went  in  to  Kot- 
garh  again,  and  said  to  the  Chaplain's  wife  : 
•-•  He  will  come  back  and  marry  me.  He  has 
gone  to  his  own  people  to  tell  them  so."  And 
the  Chaplain's  wife  soothed  Lispeth  and  said  : 
"  He  will  come  back."  At  the  end  of  two  months, 
Lispeth  grew  impatient,  and  was  told  that  the 
Englishman  had  gone  over  the  seas  to  England. 
She  knew  where  England  was,  because  she  had 
read  little  geography  primers  ;  but,  of  course, 
she  had  no  conception  of  the  nature  of  the  sea, 
being  a  Hill  girl.  There  was  an  old  puzzle-map 
of  the  World  in  the  house.  Lispeth  had  played 
with  it  when  she  was  a  child.  She  unearthed  it 
again,  and  put  it  together  of  evenings,  and  cried 
to  herself,  and  tried  to  imagine  where  her  Eng- 
lishman was.  As  she  had  no  ideas  of  distance 
or  steamboats,  her  notions  were  somewhat 


6  Lispeth 

erroneous.  It  would  not  have  made  the  least 
difference  had  she  been  perfectly  correct  ;  for 
the  Englishman  had  no  intention  of  coming  back 
to  marry  a  Hill  girl.  He  forgot  all  about  her 
by  the  time  he  was  butterfly-hunting  in  Assam. 
He  wrote  a,  book  on  the  East  afterwards.  Lis- 
peth's  name,  did  not  appear. 

At  the  end  of  three  months,  Lispeth  made  daily 
pilgrimage  to  Narkunda  to  see  if  her  English- 
man was  coming  along  the  road.  It  gave  her 
comfort,  and  the  Chaplain's  wife  finding  her 
happier  thought  that  she  was  getting  over  her 
••  barbarous  and  most  indelicate  folly."  A  little 
later  the  walks  ceased  to  help  Lispeth  and  her 
temper  grew  very.  bad.  The  Chaplain's  wife 
thought  this  a  profitable  time  to  let  her  know 
the  real  state  of  affairs — that  the  Englishman 
had  only  promised  his  love  to  keep  her  quiet — 
that  he  had  never  meant  anything,  and  that  it 
was  "  wrong  and  improper"  of  Lispeth  to  think 
of  marriage  with  an  Englishman,  who  was  of  a 
superior  clay,.,  besides  being  promised  in  mar- 
riage to  a  girl  of  his  own  people.  Lispeth  said 
that  all  this  was  clearly  impossible  because  he 
had  said  he  loved  her,  and  the  Chaplain's  wife 
had,  with  her  own  lips,  asserted  that  the  Eng- 
lishman was  coming  back. 

"  How  can  what  he  and  you  said  be  untrue  ?  " 
asked  Lispeth. 

"  We  said  it  as  an  excuse  to  keep  you  quiet, 
child,"  said  the  Chaplain's  wife. 

"  Then  you  have  lied  to  me,"  said  Lispeth, 
"  you  and  he  ?  " 

The  Chaplain's  wife  bowed  her  head,  and  said 
nothing.  Lispeth  was  silent,  too,  for  a  little  time  ; 
then  she  went  out  down  the  valley,  and  returned 


Lispeth  7 

tn  the  dress  of  a  Hill  girl — infamously  dirty,  but 
without  the  nose  and  ear  rings.'  She  had  her 
hair  braided  into  the  long  pigtail,  helped  out 
with  black  thread,  that  Hill  women  wear. 

"  I  am  going  back  to  my  own  people,"  said 
*he.  "  You  have  killed  Lispeth.  There  is  only 
left  old  Jade"h's  daughter — the  daughter  of  a 
pahari  and  the  servant  of  Tarka  Devi.  You 
are  all  liars,  you  English." 

By  the  time  that  the  Chaplain's  wife  had  re- 
covered from  the  shock  of  the  announcement 
that  Lispeth  had  'verted  to  her  mother's  gods, 
the  girl  had  gone  ;  and  she  never  came  back. 

She  took  to  her  own  unclean  people  savagely, 
as  if  to  make  up  the  arrears  of  the  life  she  had 
stepped  out  of;  and,  in  a  little  time,  she  married 
a  wood-cutter  who  beat  her,  after  the  manner  of 
paharis,  and  her  beauty  faded  soon. 

"  There  is  no  law  whereby  you  can  account 
for  the  vagaries  of  the  heathen,"  said  the  Chap- 
lain's wife,  "  and  I  believe  that  Lispeth  was  always 
at  heart  an  infidel."  Seeing  she  had  been  taken 
into  the  Church  of  England  at'the  mature  age  of 
five  weeks,  this  statement  does  not  do  credit  to 
the  Chaplain's  wife. 

Lispeth  was  a  very  old  woman  when  she  died. 
She  always  had  a  perfect  command  of  English, 
and  when  she  was  sufficiently  drunk,  could  some- 
times be  induced  to  tell  the  story  of  her  first 
love-affair. 

It  was  hard  then  to  realize  that  the  bleared, 
wrinkled  creature,  so  like  a  wisp  of  charred  rag, 
could  ever  have  been  "  Lispeth  of  the  Kotgarh 
Mission." 


8  Three  and — an  Extra 


THREE  AND AN  EXTRA. 

"  When  halter  and  heel  ropes  are  slipped,  do  not  give  chase  witfc 
sticks  but  with  gram." 

Punjabi  Proverb. 

AFTER  marriage  arrives  a  reaction,  sometimes 
a  big,  sometimes  a  little,  one  ;  but  it  comes  sooner 
or  later,  and  must  be  tided  over  by  both  parties 
if  they  desire  the  rest  of  their  lives  to  go  with 
the  current. 

In  the  case  of  the  Cusack-Bremmils  this  re- 
action did  not  set  in  till  the  third  year  after  the 
wedding/  Bremmil  was  hard  to  hold  at  the  best 
of  times;  but  he  was  a  beautiful  husband  until 
the  baby  died  and  Mrs.  Bremmil  wore  black,  and 
grew  thin,  and.  mourned  as  if  the  bottom  of  the 
Universe  had  fallen  out.  Perhaps  Bremmil 
ought  to  have  comforted  her.  He  tried  to  do  so, 
I  think  ;  but  the  more  he  comforted  the  more 
Mrs.  Bremmil  grieved,  and,  consequently,  the 
more  uncomfortable  Bremmil  grew.  The  fact 
was  that  they  both  needed  a  tonic.  And  they 
got  it.  Mrs.  Bremmil  can  afford  to  laugh  now, 
but  it  was  no  laughing  matter  to  her  at  the  time. 

You  see,  Mrs.  Hauksbee  appeared  on  the  hori- 
zon ;  and  where  she  existed  was  fair  chance 
of  trouble.  At  Simla  her  by-name  was  the 
"  Stormy  Petrel."  She  had  won  that  title  five 
times  to  my  own  certain  knowledge.  She  was  a 
little,  brown,  thin,  almost  skinny,  woman,  with 
big,  rolling,  violet-blue  eyes,  and  the  sweetest 
manners  in  the  world.  You  had  only  to  mention 
her  name  at  afternoon  teas  for  every  woman  in 


Three  and — an  Extra  9 

the  room  to  rise  up,  and  call  her — well — not 
blessed.  She  was  clever,  witty,  brilliant,  and 
sparkling  beyond  most  of  her  kind  ;  but  possessed 
of  many  devils  of  malice  and  mischievousness. 
She  'could  be  nice,  though,  even  to  her  own  sex. 
But  that  is  another  story. 

Bremmil  went  off  at  score  after  the  baby's 
death  and  the  general  discomfort  that  followed, 
and  Mrs.  Hauksbee  annexed  him.  She  took  no 
pleasure  in  hiding  her  captives.  She  annexed 
him  publicly,  and  saw  that  the  public  saw  it. 
He  rode  with  her,  and  walked  with  her,  and 
talked  with  her,  and  picnicked  with  her,  and 
tiffined  at  Peliti's  with  her,  till  people  put  .up 
their  eyebrows  and  said  :  "  Shocking  !  "  Mrs. 
Bremmil  stayed  at  home  turning  over  the  dead 
baby's  frocks  and  crying  into  the  empty  cradle. 
She  did  not  care  to  do  anything  else.  But  some 
eight  clear,  affectionate  lady-friends  explained  the 
situation  at  length  to  her  in  case  she  should  miss 
the  cream  of  it.  Mrs.  Bremmil  listened  quietly, 
and  thanked  them  for  their  good  offices.  She 
was  not  as  clever  as  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  but  s*he 
was  n j  fool.  She  kept  her  own  counsel,  and 
did  not  speak  to  Bremmil  of  what  she  had  heard-. 
This  is  worth  remembering.  Speaking  to,  or 
crying  over,  a  husband  never  did  any  good 
yet. 

When  Bremmil  was  at  home,  which  was  not 
often,  he  was  more  affectionate  than  usual ;  and 
that  showed  his  hand.  The  affection  was  forced 
partly  to  soothe  his  own  conscience  and  partly  to 
soothe  Mrs.  Bremmil.  It  failed  in  both  regards. 

Then  "  the  A.-D.-C.  in  Waiting  was  com- 
manded by  Their  Excellencies,  Lord  and  Lady 
Lytton,  to  invite  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cusack-Bremmil 


io         Three  and — an  Extra 

to  Peterhoff  on  July  26th  at  9-30  P.M." — "  Danc- 
ing" in  the  bottom-left-hand  corner. 

"  I  can't  go,"  said  Mrs.  Bremmil,  "  it  is  too 
soon  after  poor  little  Florrie  ....  but  it  need 
not  stop  you,  Tom." 

She  meant  what  she  said  then,  and  Bremmil 
said  that  he  would  go  just  to  put  in  an  appear- 
ance. Here  he  spoke  the  thing  which  was  not ; 
and  Mrs.  Bremmil  knew  it.  She  guessed — a 
woman's  guess  is  much  more  accurate  than  a 
man's  certainty — that  he  had  meant  to  go  from 
the  first,  and  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  She  sat 
down  to  think,  and  the  outcome  of  her  thoughts 
was  that  the  memory  of  a  dead  child  was  worth 
considerably  less  than  the  affections  of  a  living 
husband.  She  made  her  plan  and  staked  her  all 
upon  it.  In  that  hour  she  discovered  that  she 
knew  Tom  Bremmil  thoroughly,  and  this  knowl- 
edge she  acted  on. 

"  Tom,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  be  dining  out  at 
the  Longmores*  on  the  evening  of  the  26th. 
You'd  better  dine  at  the  Club." 

This  saved  Bremmil  from  making  an  excuse 
to  get  away  and  dine  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  so  he 
was  grateful,  and  felt  small  and  mean  at  the  same 
time — which  was  wholesome.  Bremmil  left  the 
house  at  five  for  a  ride.  About  half-past  five  in 
the  evening  a  large  leather-covered  basket  came 
in  from  Phelps'  for  Mrs.  Bremmil.  She  was  a 
woman  who  knew  how  to  dress  ;  and  she  had 
not  spent  a  week  on  designing  that  dress  and 
having  it  gored,  and  hemmed,  and  herring-boned, 
and  tucked  and  rucked  (or  whatever  the  terms 
are),  for  nothing.  It  was  a  gorgeous  dress — 
slight  mourning.  I  can't  describe  it,  but  it  was 
what  The  Queen  calls  "  a  creation  " — a  thing  that 


Three  and— an  Extra          n 

hit  you  straight  between  the  eyes  and  made  you 
gasp.  She  had  not  much  heart  for  what  she 
was  going  to  do  ;  but  as  she  glanced  at  the  long 
mirror  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
she  had  never  looked  so  well  in  her  life.  She 
was  a  large  blonde  and,  when  she  chose,  carried 
herself  superbly. 

After  the  dinner  at  the  Longmores,  she  went 
on  to  the  dance — a  little  late — and  encountered 
Bremmil  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee  on  his  arm.  That 
made  her  flush,  and  as  the  men  crowded  round 
her  for  dances  she  looked  magnificent.  She 
filled  up  all  her  dances  except  three,  and  those 
she  left  blank.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  caught  her  eye 
once  ;  and  she  knew  it  was  war — real  war — be- 
tween them.  She  started  handicapped  in  the 
struggle,  for  she  had  ordered  Bremmil  about  just 
the  least  little  bit  in  the  world  too  much  ;  and  he 
was  beginning  to  resent  it.  Moreover,  he  had 
never  seen  his  wife  look  so  lovely.  He  stared  at 
her  from  doorways,  and  glared  at  her  from  pas- 
sages as  she  went  about  with  her  partners  ;  and 
the  more  he  stared,  the  more  taken  was  he.  He 
could  scarcely  believe  that  this  was  the  woman 
with  the  red  eyes  and  the  black  stuft  gown  who 
used  to  weep  over  the  eggs  at  breakfast. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  did  her  best  to  hold  him  in 
play  but,  after  two  dances,  he  crossed  over  to 
his  wife  and  asked  for  a  dance. 

"  I'm  afraid  you've  come  too  late,  Mister 
Bremmil,"  she  said  with  her  eyes  twinkling. 

Then  he  begged  her  to  give  him  a  dance,  and, 
as  a  great  favor,  she  allowed  him  the  fifth  waltz. 
Luckily  5  stood  vacant  on  his  program.  They 
danced  it  together,  a-nd  there  was  a  little  flutter 
refund  the  room.  Bremmil  had  a  sort  of  a  notion 


12          Three  and — an  Extra 

that  his  wife  could  dance,  but  he  never  knew  she 
danced  so  divinely.  At  the  end  of  that  waltz  he 
asked  for  another — as  a  favor,  not  as  a  right  ; 
and  Mrs.  Bremmil  said  :  "  Show  me  your  pro- 
gram, dear  !  "  He  showed  it  as  a  naughty  little 
schoolboy  hands  up  contraband  sweets  to  a 
master.  There  was  a  fair  sprinkling  of  "  H  " 
on  it,  besides  ••  H  "  at  supper.  Mrs.  Bremmil 
said  nothing,  but  she  smiled  contemptuously,  ran 
her  pencil  through  7  and  9 — two"H's" — and 
returned  the  card  with  her  own  name  written 
above — a  pet  name  that  only  she  and  her  hus- 
band used.  Then  she  shook  her  finger  at  him, 
and  said,  laughing  :  "  Oh  you  silly,  silly  boy  !  " 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  heard  that,  and — she  owned  as 
much — felt  she  had  the  worst  of  it.  Bremmil 
accepted  7  and  9  gratefully.  They  danced  7,  and 
sat  out  9  in  one  of  the  little  tents.  What  Brem- 
mil said  and  what  Mrs.  Bremmil  did  is  no  con- 
cern of  any  one's. 

When  the  band  struck  up  "  The  Roast  Beef 
of  Old  England,"  the  two  went  out  into  the 
veranda,  and  Bremmil  began  looking  for  his 
wife's  dandy  (this  was  before  'rickshaw  days) 
while  she  went  into  the  cloak-room.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  came  up  and  said  :  "  You  take  me 
in  to  supper,  I  think,  Mr.  Bremmil  ?  "  Bremmil 
turned  red  and  looked  foolish  :  "  Ah — h'm  !  I'm 
going  home  with  my  wife,  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  I 
think  there  has  been  a  little  mistake."  Being  a 
man,  he  spoke  as  though  Mrs.  Hauksbee  were 
entirely  responsible. 

Mrs.  Bremmil  came  out  of  the  cloak-room,  in 
a  swansdown  cloak  with  a  white  "  cloud  "  round 
her  head.  She  looked  radrant  ;  and  she  had  a 
right  to. 


Three  and— an  Extra          13 

The  couple  went  off  into  the  darkness  to- 
gether, Bremmil  riding  very  close  to  the  dandy. 

Then  says  Mrs.  Hauksbee  to  me — she  looked 
a  trifle  faded  and  jaded  in  the  lamplight :  "  Take 
my  word  for  it,  the  silliest  woman  can  manage  a 
clever  man  ;  but  it  needs  a  very  clever  woman  to 
manage  a  fool  !  " 

Then  we  went  in  to  supper. 


14  Thrown  Away 


THROWN  AWAY 

"  And  some  are  sulky,  while  some  will  plunge 

[So  ho  !  Steady  !  Stand  still,  you  .'] 
Some  you  must  gentle,  and  some  you  must  lunge. 

[  There  !  There  !   Who  -wants  to  kill  you  ?] 
Some— there  are  losses  in  every  trade— 
Will  break  their  hearts  ere  bitted  and  made, 
Will  fight  like  fiends  as  the  rope  cuts  hard. 
And  die  dumb-mad  in  the  breaking-yard." 

Toolungala  Stockyard  Chorus. 

To  rear  a  boy  under  what  parents  call  the 
"sheltered  life  system"  is,  if  the  boy  must  go 
into  the  world  and  fend  for  himself,  not  wise. 
Unless  he  be  one  in  a  thousand  he  has  certainly 
to  pass  through  many  unnecessary  troubles  ;  and 
may,  possibly,  come  to  extreme  grief  simply  from 
ignorance  of  the  proper  proportions  of  things. 

Let  a  puppy  eat  the  soap  in  the  bath-room  or 
chew  a  newly-blacked  boot.  He  chews  and 
chuckles  until,  by  and  by,  he  finds  out  that  black- 
ing and  Old  Brown  Windsor  make  him  very  sick  ; 
so  he  argues  that  soap  and  boots  are  not  whole- 
some. Any  old  dog  about  the  house  will  soon 
show  him  the  unwisdom  of  biting  big  dogs'  ears. 
Being  young,  he  remembers  and  goes  abroad,  at 
six  months,  a  well-mannered  little  beast  with  a 
chastened  appetite.  If  he  had  been  kept  away 
from  boots,  and  soap,  and  big  dogs  till  he  came 
to  the  trinity  full-grown  and  with  developed  teeth, 
just  consider  how  fearfully  sick  and  thrashed 
he  would  be  !  Apply  that  motion  to  the 
"  sheltered  life,"  and  see  how  it  works.  It  does 
not  sound  pretty,  but  it  is  the  better  of  two  evils. 

There  was  a  Boy  once  who  had  been  brought 


Thrown  Away  15 

up  under  the  "  sheltered  life  "  theory  ;  and  the 
theory  killed  him  dead.  He  stayed  with  his 
people  all  his  days,  from  the  hour  he  was  born 
till  the  hour  he  went  into  Sandhurst  nearly  at  the 
top  of  the  list.  He  was  beautifully  taught  in  all 
that  wins  marks  by  a  private  tutor,  and  carried 
the  extra  weight  of  "  never  having  given  his 
parents  an  hour's  anxiety  in  his  life."  What  he 
learnt  at  Sandhurst  beyond  the  regular  routine  is 
of  no  great  consequence.  He  looked  about  him, 
and  he  found  soap  and  blacking,  so  to  speak, 
very  good.  He  ate  a  little,  and  came  out  of 
Sandhurst  not  so  high  as  he  went  in.  Then 
there  was  an  interval  and  a  scene  with  his  peo- 
ple, who  expected  much  from  him.  Next  a  year 
of  living  "  unspotted  from  the  world  "  in  a  third- 
rate  depot  battalion  where  all  the  juniors  were 
children,  and  all  the  seniors  old  women  ;  and 
lastly  he  came  out  to  India  where  he  was  cut  off 
from  the  support  of  his  parents,  and  had  no  one 
to  fall  back  on  in  time  of  trouble  except  him- 
self. 

Now  India  is  a  place  beyond  all  others  where 
one  must  not  take  things  too  seriously — the  mid- 
day sun  always  excepted1.  Too  much  work  and 
too  much  energy  kill  a  man  just  as  effectively  as 
too  much  assorted  vice  or  too  much  drink. 
Flirtation  does  not  matter,  because  every  one  is 
being  transferred  and  either  you  or  she  leaves 
the  Station,  and  never  return.  Good  work  does 
not  matter,  because  a  man  is  judged  by  his  worst 
output  and  another  man  takes  all  the  credit  of 
his  best  as  a  rule.  Bad  work  does  not  matter, 
because  other  men  do  worse  and  incompetents 
hang  on  longer  in  India  than  anywhere  else. 
Amusements  do  not  matter,  because  you  must 


1 6  Thrown  Away 

repeat  them  as  soon  as  you  have  accomplished 
them  once,  and  most  amusements  only  mean 
trying  to  win  another  person's  money.  Sick- 
ness does  not  matter,  because  it's  all  in  the  day's 
work,  and  if  you  die  another  man  takes  over 
your  place  and  your  office  in  the  eight  hours 
between  death  and  burial.  Nothing  matters  ex- 
cept Home-furlough  and  acting  allowances,  and 
these  only  because  they  are  scarce.  This  is  a 
slack,  kutcha  country  where  all  men  work  with 
imperfect  instruments  ;  and  the  wisest  thing  is  to 
take  no  one  and  nothing  in  earnest,  but  to  escape 
as  soon  as  ever  you  can  to  some  place  where 
amusement  is  amusement  and  a  reputation  worth 
the  having. 

But  this  Boy — the  tale  is  as  old  as  the  Hills — 
came  out,  and  took  all  things  seriously.  He  was 
pretty  and  was  petted.  He  took  the  pettings 
seriously,  and  fretted  over  women  not  worth  sad- 
dling a  pony  to  call  upon.  He  found  his  new 
free  life  in  India  very  good,  lldoes  look  attrac- 
tive in  the  beginning,  from  a  Subaltern's  point  of 
view — all  ponies,  partners,  dancing,  and  so  on. 
He  tasted  it  as  the  puppy  tastes  the  soap.  Only 
he  came  late  to  the  eating,  with  a  grown  set  of 
teeth.  He  had  no  sense  of  balance — just  like 
the  puppy — and  could  not  understand  why  he 
was  not  treated  with  the  consideration  he  re- 
ceived under  his  father's  roof.  This  hurt  his 
feelings. 

He  quarreled  with  other  boys  and,  being  sen- 
sitive to  the  marrow,  remembered  these  quarrels, 
and  they  excited  him.  He  found  whist,  and 
gymkhanas,  and  things  of  that  kind  (meant  to 
amuse  one  after  office)  good  ;  but  he  took  them 
seriously  too,  just  as  ^seriously  as  he  took  the 


Thrown  Away  17 

*•  head  "  that  followed  after  drink.  He  lost  his 
money  over  whist  and  gymkhanas  because  they 
were  new  to  him. 

He  took  his  losses  seriously,  and  wasted  as 
much  energy  and  interest  over  a  two-goldmohur 
race  for  maiden  ek&a-pomes  with  their  manes 
hogged,  as  if  it  had  been  the  Derby.  One  half 
of  this  came  from  inexperience — much  as  the 
puppy  squabbles  with  the  corner  ot  the  hearth- 
rug— and  the  other  half  from  the  dizziness  bred 
by  stumbling  out  of  his  quiet  life  into  the  glare 
and  excitement  of  a  livelier  one.  No  one  told 
him  about  the  soap  and  the  blacking,  because 
an  average  man  takes  it  for  granted  that  an 
average  man  is  ordinarily  careful  in  regard  to 
them.  It  was  pitiful  to  watch  The  Boy  knocking 
himself  to  pieces,  as  an  over-handled  colt  falls 
down  and  cuts  himself  when  he  gets  away  from 
the  groom. 

This  unbridled  license  in  amusements  not 
worth  the  trouble  of  breaking  line  for,  much  less 
rioting  over,  endured  for  six  months — all  through 
one  cold  weather — and  then  we  thought  that  the 
heat  and  the  knowledge  of  having  lost  his  money 
and  health  and  lamed  his  horses  would  sober 
The  Boy  down,  and  he  would  stand  steady.  In 
ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  this  would 
have  happened.  You  can  see  the  principle  work- 
ing in  any  Indian  Station.  But  this  particular 
case  fell  through  because  The  Boy  was  sensitive 
and  took  things  seriously — as  I  may  have  said 
some  seven  times  before.  Of  course,  we  couldn't 
tell  how  his  excesses  struck  him  personally. 
They  were  nothing  very  heart-breaking  or  above 
the  average.  He  might  be  crippled  for  life  fi- 
nancially, and  want  a  little  nursing.  Still  the 
2 


1 8  Thrown  Away 

memory  ot  his  performances  would  wither  away 
in  one  hot  weather,  and  the  shroff  would  help 
him  to  tide  over  the  money-troubles.  But  he 
must  have  taken  another  view  altogether  and 
have  believed  himself  ruined  beyond  redemption. 
His  Colonel  talked  to  him  severely  when  the  cold 
weather  ended.  That  made  him  more  wretched 
than  ever  ;  and  it  was  only  an  ordinary  "  Col- 
onel's wigging  !  " 

What  follows  is  a  curious  instance  of  the  fash- 
ion in  which  we  are  all  linked  together  and  made 
responsible  for  one  another.  The  thing  that 
kicked  the  beam  in  The  Boy's  mind  was  a  remark 
that  a  woman  made  when  he  was  talking  to  her. 
There  is  no  use  in  repeating  t,  for  it  was  only  a 
cruel  little  sentence,  rapped  out  before  thinking, 
that  made  him  flush  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  He 
kept  himself  to  himself  for  three  days,  and  then 
put  in  for  two  days'  leave  to  go  shooting  near  a 
Canal  Engineer's  Rest  House  about  thirty  miles 
out.  He  got  his  leave,  and  that  night  at  Mess 
was  noisier  and  more  offensive  than  ever.  He 
said  that  he  was  "  going  to  shoot  big  game," 
and  left  at  half-past  ten  o'clock  in  an  ekka. 
Partridge — which  was  the  only  thing  a  man 
could  get  near  the  Rest  House — is  not  big  game  ; 
so  every  one  laughed. 

•Next  morning  one  of  the  Majors  came  in  from 
short  leave,  and  heard  that  The  Boy  had  gone 
out  to  shoot  "  big  game."  The  Major  had  taken 
an  interest  in  The  Boy,  and  had,  more  than  once, 
tried  to  check  him  in  the  cold  weather.  The 
Major  put  up  his  eyebrows  when  he  heard  of  the 
expedition  and  went  to  The  Boy's  rooms,  where 
he  rummaged. 

Presently  he  came  out  and  found  me  leaving 


Thrown  Away  19 

cards  on  the  Mess.  There  was  no  one  else  in 
the  ante-room. 

He  said  :  "  The  Boy  has  gone  out  shooting. 
Does  a  man  shoot  tctur  with  a  revolver  and  a 
writing-case  !  " 

I  said  :  "  Nonsense,  Major  !  "  for  I  saw  what 
was  in  his  mind. 

He  said :  "  Nonsense  or  no  nonsense,  I'm 
going  to  the  Canal  now — at  once.  I  don't  feel 
easy." 

Then  he  thought  for  a  minute  and  said  :  "  Can 
you  lie  ?" 

••  You  know  best,"  I  answered.  "  It's  my  pro- 
fession." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Major;  "you  must 
come  out  with  me  now — at  once — in  an  ekka  to 
the  Canal  to  shoot  black-buck.  Go  and  put  on 
shikar-Y\\.  —  quick  —  and  drive  here  with  a 
gun." 

The  Major  was  a  masterful  man  ;  and  I  knew 
that  he  would  not  give  orders  for  nothing.  So 
I  obeyed,  and  on  return  found  the  Major  packed 
up  in  an  ekka — gun -cases  and  food  slung  below 
— all  ready  for  a  shooting-trip. 

He  dismissed  the  driver  and  drove  himself. 
We  jogged  along  quietly  while  in  the  station; 
but  as  soon  as  we  got  to  the  dusty  road  across 
the  plains,  he  made  that  pony  fly.  A  country- 
bred  can  do  nearly  anything  at  a  pinch.  We 
covered  the  thirty  miles  in  under  three  hours, 
but  the  poor  brute  was  nearly  dead. 

Once  I  said  : — "  What's  the  blazing  hurry, 
Major  ?  " 

He  said,  quietly  :  "The  Boy  has  been  alone, 
by  himself  for — one,  two,  five, — fourteen  hours 
now  !  I  tell  you,  I  don't  feel  easy." 


2O  Thrown  Away 

This  uneasiness  spread  itself  to  me,  and  1 
helped  to  heat  the  pony. 

When  we  came  to  the  Canal  Engineer's  Rest 
House  the  Major  called  for  The  Boy's  servant ; 
but  there  was  no  answer.  Then  we  went  up  to 
the  house,  calling  for  The  Boy  by  name  ;  but 
there  was  no  answer. 

"Oh,  he's  out  shooting,"  said  I. 

Just  then,  I  saw  through  one  of  the  windows 
a  little  hurricane-lamp  burning.  This  was  at 
four  in  the  afternoon.  We  both  stopped  dead  in 
the  veranda,  holding  our  breath  to  catch  every 
sound  ;  and  we  heard,  inside  the  room,  the  "  brr 
—  brr — brr  "  of  a  multitude  of  flies.  The  Major 
said  nothing,  but  he  took  off  his  helmet  and  we 
entered  very  softly. 

The  Boy  was  dead  on  the  charpoy  in  the 
center  of  the  bare,  lime-washed  room.  He  had 
shot  his  head  nearly  to  pieces  with  his  revolver. 
The  gun-cases  were  still  strapped,  so  was  the 
bedding,  and  on  the  table  lay  The  Boy's  writing- 
case  with  photographs.  He  had  gone  away  to 
die  like  a  poisoned  rat  ! 

The  Major  said  to  himself  softly  : — "  Poor 
Boy  !  Poor,  poor  devil  !  "  Then  he  turned 
away  from  the  bed  and  said  : — "  I  want  your 
help  in  this  business." 

Knowing  The  Boy  was  dead  by  his  own  hand, 
I  saw  exactly  what  that  help  would  be,  so  I  passed 
over  to  the  table,  took  a  chair,  lit  a  cheroot,  and 
began  to  go  through  the  writing-case  ;  the  Major 
looking  over  my  shoulder  and  repeating  to  him- 
self :  "  We  came  too  late  ! — Like  a  rat  in  a  hole  ! 
— Poor,  poor  devil  !  " 

The  Boy  must  have  spent  half  the  night  in 
writing  to  his  people,  to  his  Colonel,  and  to  a 


Thrown  Away  21 

girl  at  Home ;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  finished, 
must  have  shot  himself,  for  he  had  been  dead  a 
long  time  when  we  came  in. 

I  read  all  that  he  had  written,  and  passed  over 
each  sheet  to  the  Major  as  I  finished  it. 

We  saw  from  his  accounts  how  very  seriously 
he  had  taken  everything.  He  wrote  about  "  dis- 
grace which  he  was  unable  to  bear  " — •«  indelible 
shame  " — "criminal  folly  " — "  wasted  life,"  and 
so  on  ;  besides  a  lot  of  private  things  to  his 
Father  and  Mother  much  too  sacred  to  put  into 
print.  The  letter  to  the  girl  at  Home  was  the 
most  pitiful  of  all  ;  and  I  choked  as  I  read  it. 
The  Major  made  no  attempt  to  keep  dry-eyed. 
I  respected  him  for  that.  He  read  and  rocked 
himselt  to  and  fro,  and  simply  cried  like  a  woman 
without  caring  to  hide  it.  The  letters  were  so 
dreary  and  hopeless  and  touching.  We  forgot 
all  about  The  Boy's  follies,  and  only  thought  of 
the  poor  Thing  on  the  charpoy  and  the  scrawled 
sheets  in  our  hands.  It  was  utterly  impossible 
to  let  the  letters  go  Home.  They  would  have 
broken  his  father's  heart  and  killed  his  Mother 
after  killing  her  belief  in  her  son. 

At  last  the  Major  dried  his  eyes  openly,  and 
said  : — "  Nice  sort  of  thing  to  spring  on  an  Eng- 
lish family  !  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

I  said,  knowing  what  the  Major  had  brought 
me  out  for  : — "  The  Boy  died  of  cholera.  We 
were  with  him  at  the  time.  We  can't  commit 
ourselves  to  half-measures.  Come  along." 

Then  began  one  of  the  most  grimly  comic 
scenes  I  have  ever  taken  part  in — the  concoction 
of  a  big,  written  lie,  bolstered  with  evidence,  to 
soothe  The  Boy's  people  at  Home.  I  began  the 
rough  draft  of  the  letter,  the  Major  throwing  in 


22     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

hints  here  and  there  while  he  gathered  up  all  the 
stuff  that  The  Boy  had  written  and  burnt  it  in 
the  fireplace.  It  was  a  hot,  still  evening  when 
we  began,  and  the  lamp  burned  very  badly.  In 
due  course  I  got  the  draft  to  my  satisfaction, 
setting  forth  how  The  Boy  was  the  pattern  of  all 
virtues,  beloved  by  his  regiment,  with  every 
promise  of  a  great  career  before  him,  and  soon  ; 
how  we  had  helped  him  through  the  sickness — 
it  was  no  time  for  little  lies  you  will  understand 
— and  how  he  had  died  without  pain.  I  choked 
while  I  was  putting  down  these  things  and  think- 
ing of  the  poor  people  who  would  read  them. 
Then  I  laughed  at  the  grotesqueness  of  the  affair, 
and  the  laughter  mixed  itself  up  with  the  choke 
— and  the  Major  said  that  we  both  wanted 
drinks. 

I  am  afraid  to  say  how  much  whisky  we  drank 
before  the  letter  was  finished.  It  had  not  the 
least  effect  on  us.  Then  we  took  off  The  Boy's 
watch,  locket,  and  rings. 

Lastly,  the  Major  said : — "  We  must  send  a 
lock  of  hair  too.  A  woman  values  that." 

But  there  were  reasons  why  we  could  not  find 
a  lock  fit  to  send.  The  Boy  was  black-haired, 
and  so  was  the  Major,  luckily.  I  cut  off  a  piece 
of  the  Major's  hair  above  the  temple  with  a 
knife,  and  put  it  into  the  packet  we  were  making. 
The  laughing-fit  and  the  chokes  got  hold  of  me 
again,  and  I  had  to  stop.  The  Major  was  nearly 
as  bad  ;  and  we  both  knew  that  the  worst  part 
of  the  work  was  to  come. 

We  sealed  up  the  packet,  photographs,  locket, 
seals,  ring,  letter,  and  lock  of  hair  with  The 
Boy's  sealing-wax  and  The  Boy's  seal. 

Then   the    Major    said  : — "  For    God's    sake 


Thrown  Away  23 

let's  get  outside— away  from  the  room — and 
think  ! " 

We  went  outside,  and  walked  on  the  banks  of 
the  Canal  for  an  hour,  eating  and  drinking  what 
we  had  with  us,  until  the  moon  rose.  I  know  now 
exactly  how  a  murderer  feels.  Finally,  we  forced 
ourselves  back  to  the  room  with  the  lamp  and  the 
Other  Thing  in  it,  and  began  to  take  up  the  next 
piece  of  work.  I  am  not  going  to  write  about 
this.  It  was  too  horrible.  We  burned  the  bed- 
stead and  dropped  the  ashes  into  the  Canal ;  we 
took  up  the  matting  of  the  room  and  treated  that 
in  the  same  way.  I  went  off  to  a  village  and 
borrowed  two  big  hoes, — I  did  not  want  the 

villagers  to  help, — while  the  Major  arranged • 

the  other  matters.  It  took  us  four  hours'  hard 
work  to  make  the  grave.  As  we  worked,  we 
argued  out  whether  it  was  right  to  say  as  much 
as  we  remembered  of  the  Burial  of  the  Dead. 
We  compromised  things  by  saying  the  Lord's 
Prayer  with  a  private  unofficial  prayer  for  the 
peace  of  the  soul  of  The  Boy.  Then  we  filled 
in  the  grave  and  went  into  the  veranda — not 
the  house — to  lie  down  to  sleep.  We  were 
dead-tired. 

When  we  woke  the  Major  said,  wearily  : — "  We 
can't  go  back  till  to-morrow.  We  must  give  him 
a  decent  time  to  die  in.  He  died  early  this 
morning,  remember.  That  seems  more  natural." 
So  the  Major  must  have  been  lying  awake  all  the 
time,  thinking. 

I  said  :  "Then  why  didn't  we  bring  the  body 
back  to  cantonments  ?  " 

The  Major  thought  for  a  minute  : — "  Because 
the  people  bolted  when  they  heard  of  the  cholera. 
And  the  ekka  has  gone  !  " 


24     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

That  was  strictly  true.  We  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  e£&a-pony,  and  he  had  gone  home. 

So  we  were  left  there  alone,  all  that  stifling 
day,  in  the  Canal  Rest  House,  testing  and  re-test- 
ing our  story  of  The  Boy's  death  to  see  if  it  was 
weak  in  any  point.  A  native  turned  up  in  the 
afternoon,  but  we  said  that  a  Sahib  was  dead 
of  cholera,  and  he  ran  away.  As  the  dusk 
gathered,  the  Major  told  me  all  his  fears  about 
The  Boy,  and  awful  stories  of  suicide  or  nearly- 
carried-out  suicide — tales  that  made  one's  hair 
crisp.  He  said  that  he  himself  had  once  gone 
into  the  same  Valley  of  the  Shadow  as  The  Boy, 
when  he  was  young  and  new  to  the  country  ;  so 
he  understood  how  things  fought  together  in 
The  Boy's  poor  jumbled  head.  He  also  said 
that  youngsters,  in  their  repentant  moments, 
consider  their  sins  much  more  serious  and  in- 
effaceable than  they  really  are.  We  talked  to- 
gether all  through  the  evening  and  rehearsed 
the  story  of  the  death  of  The  Boy.  As  soon  as 
the  moon  was  up,  and  The  Boy,  theoretically, 
just  buried,  we  struck  across  country  for  the 
Station.  We  walked  from  eight  till  six  o'clock 
in  the  morning  ;  but  though  we  were  dead-tired, 
we  did  not  forget  to  go  to  The  Boy's  rooms  and 
put  away  his  revolver  with  the  proper  amount 
of  cartridges  in  the  pouch.  Also  to  set  his 
writing-case  on  the  table.  We  found  the  Colo- 
nel and  reported  the  death,  feeling  more  like 
murderers  than  ever.  Then  we  went  to  bed  and 
slept  the  clock  round  ;  for  there  was  no  more 
in  us. 

The  tale  had  credence  as  long  as  was  nece^- 
sary,  for  every  one  forgot  about  The  Boy  before 
a  fortnight  was  over.  Many  people,  however, 


Thrown  Away  25 

found  time  to  say  that  the  Major  had  behaved 
scandalously  in  not  bringing  in  the  body  for  a 
regimental  funeral.  The  saddest  thing  of  all 
was  the  letter  from  The  Boy's  mother  to  the 
Major  and  me — with  big  inky  blisters  all  over 
the  sheet.  She  wrote  the  sweetest  possible 
things  about  our  great  kindness,  and  the  obliga- 
tion she  would  be  under  to  us  as  long  as  she 
lived. 

All  things  considered,  she  was  under  an  obli- 
gation ;  but  not  exactly  as  she  meant. 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS. 

When  Man  and  Woman  are  agreed,  what  can  the  Kazi  do? 

Mahomedan  Proverb. 

SOME  people  say  that  there  is  no  romance  in 
India.  Those  people  are  wrong.  Our  lives 
hold  quite  as  much  romance  as  is  good  for  us. 
Sometimes  more. 

Strickland  was  in  the  Police,  and  people  did 
not  understand  him,  so  they  said  he  was  a  doubt- 
ful  sort  of  a  man  and  passed  by  on  the  other 
side.  Strickland  had  himself  to  thank  for  this. 
He  held  the  extraordinary  theory  that  a  police- 
man in  India  should  try  to  know  as  much  about 
the  natives  as  the  natives  themselves.  Now,  in 
the  whole  of  Upper  India,  there  is  only  one 
man  who  can  pass  for  Hindu  or  Mahomedan, 
chamar  or  faquir,  as  he  pleases.  He  is  feared 
and  respected  by  the  natives  from  the  Ghor 
Kathrito  the  Jamma  Musjid  ;  and  he  is  supposed 
to  have  the  gift  of  invisibility  and  executive  con- 
trol over  many  Devils.  But  what  good  has  this 
done  him  with  the  Government  ?  None  in  the 
world.  He  has  never  got  Simla  for  his  charge  ; 
and  his  name  is  almost  unknown  to  English- 
men. 

Strickland   was    foolish    enough    to    take  that 

man    for    his  model  ;     and,    following    out    his 

absurd  theory,  dabbled   in  unsavory  places  no 

respectable  man  would  think  of  exploring — all 

26 


Miss  Youghal's  Sais  27 

among  the  native  riff-raff.  He  educated  himself 
in  this  peculiar  way  for  seven  years,  and  people 
could  not  appreciate  it.  He  was  perpetually 
"  going  Fantee "  among  natives,  which,  of 
course,  no  man  with  any  sense  believes  in. 
He  was  initiated  into  the  Sat  Bhai  at  Allahabad 
once,  when  he  was  on  leave  ;  he  knew  the 
Lizard-Song  of  the  Sansis,  and  the  Hdlli-Hukk 
dance,  which  is  a  religious  can-can  of  a  startling 
kind.  When  a  man  knows  who  dance  the  Hdlli- 
Hukk,  and  how,  and  when,  and  where,  he  knows 
something  to  be  proud  of.  He  has  gone  deeper 
than  the  skin.  But  Strickland  was  not  proud, 
though  he  had  helped  once,  at  Jagadhri,  at  the 
Painting  of  the  Death  Bull,  which  no  English- 
man must  even  look  upon  ;  had  mastered  the 
thieves'-patter  of  the  chdngars ;  had  taken  a 
Eusufzai  horse-thief  alone  near  Attock  ;  and  had 
stood  under  the  mtm bar-board  of  a  Border 
mosque  and  conducted  services  in  the  manner 
of  a  Sunni  Mollah. 

His  crowning  achievement  was  spending  eleven 
days  as  a  faquir  in  the  gardens  of  Baba  Atal  at 
Amritsar,  and  there  picking  up  the  threads 
of  the  great  Nasiban  Murder  Case.  But  people 
said,  justly  enough : — "  Why  on  earth  can't 
Strickland  sit  in  his  office  and  write  up  his  diary, 
and  recruit,  and  keep  quiet,  instead  of  show- 
ing up  the  incapacity  of  his  seniors?"  So  the 
Nasiban  Murder  Case  did  him  no  good  depart- 
mentally  ;  but,  after  his  first  feeling  of  wrath,  he 
returned  to  his  outlandish  custom  of  prying 
into  native  life.  By  the  way  when  a  man  once 
acquires  a  taste  for  this  particular  amusement,  it 
abides  with  him  all  his  days.  It  is  the  most  fas- 
cinating thing  in  the  world  ;  Love  not  excepted. 


28     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

Where  other  men  took  ten  days  to  the  Hills, 
Strickland  took  leave  for  what  he  called  shikar, 
put  on  the  disguise  that  appealed  to  him  at  the 
time,  stepped  clown  into  the  brown  crowd,  and 
was  swallowed  up  for  a  wfcile.  He  was  a  quiet, 
dark  young  fellow — spare,  black-eyed — and, 
when  he  was  not  thinking  of  something  else,  a 
very  interesting  companion.  Strickland  on  Na- 
tive Progress  as  he  had  seen  it  was  worth  hear- 
ing. Natives  hated  Strickland  ;  but  they  were 
afraid  of  him.  He  knew  too  much. 

When  the  Youghals  came  into  the  station, 
Strickland — very  gravely,  as  he  did  everything — 
fell  in  love  with  Miss  Youghal  ;  and  she,  after  a 
while,  fell  in  love  with  him  because  she  could 
not  understand  him.  Then  Strickland  told  the 
parents  ;  but  Mrs.  Youghal  said  she  was  not  go- 
ing to  throw  her  daughter  into  the  worst  paid 
Department  in  the  Empire,  and  old  Youghal 
said,  in  so  many  words,  that  he  mistrusted  Strick- 
land's ways  and  works,  and  would  thank  him  not 
speak  or  write  to  his  daughter  any  more.  "  Very 
well,"  said  Strickland,  for  he  did  not  wish  to 
make  his  lady-love's  life  a  burden.  After  one 
long  talk  .with  Miss  Youghal  he  dropped  the 
business  enjtirely. 

The  Youghals  went  up  to  Simla  in  April. 

In  July,  Strickland  secured  three  months' 
leave  on  "  urgent  private  affairs."  He  locked 
up  his  house — though  not  a  native  in  the  Prov- 
ince would  wittingly  have  touched  "  Estreekin 
Sahib's  "  gear  for  the  world — and  went  down  to 
see  a  friend  of  his,  an  old  dyer,  at  Tarn  Taran. 

Here  all  trace  of  him  was  lost,  until  a  sais 
met  me  on  the  Simla  Mall  with  this  extraordinary 
note  : — 


Miss  Youghal's  Sais  29 

«« Dear  old  man, 

Please  give  bearer  a  box 

9f  cheerools — Supers,  No.    I,   for   preference. 
They  are  freshest  at  the  Club.     Fll  repay  when 
I  reappear  j  but  at  present  I'm  out  of  Society. 
Yours, 

E.  STRICKLAND." 

I  ordered  two  boxes,  and  handed  them  over  to 
the  sais  with  my  love.  That  sais  was  Strick- 
land, and  he  was  in  old  Youghal's  employ,  at- 
tached to  Miss  Youghal's  Arab.  The  poor 
fellow  was  suffering  for  an  English  smoke,  and 
knew  that  whatever  happened  I  should  hold  my 
tongue  till  the  business  was  over. 

Later  on,  Mrs.  Youghal,  who  was  wrapped  up 
in  her  servants,  began  talking  at  houses  where 
she  called  of  her  paragon  among  saises — the 
man  who  was  never  too  busy  to  get  up  in  the 
morning  and  pick  flowers  for  the  breakfast-table, 
and  who  blacked — actually  blacked — the  hoofs 
of  his  horse  like  a  London  coachman  !  The 
turnout  of  Miss  Youghal's  Arab  was  a  wonder 
and  a  delight.  Strickland — Dulloo,  I  mean, 
found  his  reward  in  the  pretty  things  that  Miss 
Youghal  said  to  him  when  she  went  out  riding. 
Her  parents  were  pleased  to  find  she  had  forgot- 
ten all  her  foolishness  for  young  Strickland  and 
said  she  was  a  good  girl. 

Strickland  vows  that  the  two  months  of  his 
service  were  the  most  rigid  mental  discipline  he 
has  ever  gone  through.  Quite  apart  from  the 
little  fact  that  the  wife  of  one  of  his  fellow-satses 
fell  in  love  with  him  and  then  tried  to  poison 
him  with  arsenic  because  he  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  her,  he  had  to  school  himself  into 


3o     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

keeping  quiet  when  Miss  Youghal  went  out  riding 
with  some  man  who  tried  to  flirt  with  her,  and 
he  was  forced  to  trot  behind  carrying  the  blanket 
and  hearing  every  word  !  Also,  he  had  to  keep 
his  temper  when  he  was  slanged  in  "  Benmore  " 
porch  by  a  policeman — especially  once  when 
he  was  abused  by  a  Naik  he  had  himself 
recruited  irom  Isser  Jang  village — or,  worse 
still,  when  a  young  subaltern  called  him  a  pig 
for  not  making  way  quickly  enough. 

But  the  life  had  its  compensations.  He  ob- 
tained great  insight  into  the  ways  and  thefts  of 
saises — enough  he  says  to  have  summarily  con- 
victed half  the  chamdr  population  of  the  Punjab 
if  he  had  been  on  business.  He  became  one  of 
the  leading  players  at  knuckle-bones,  which  all 
jhampdnis  and  many  saises  play  while  they  are 
waiting  outside  the  Government  House  or  the 
Gaiety  Theatre  of  nights  ;  he  learned  to  smoke 
tobacco  that  was  three-fourths  cowdung  ;  and 
he  heard  the  wisdom  of  the  grizzled  Jemadar  of 
the  Government  House  saises.  Whose  words 
are  valuable.  He  saw  many  things  which 
amused  him  ;  and  he  states,  on  honor,  that  no 
man  can  appreciate  Simla  properly,  till  he  has 
seen  it  from  the  sais's  point  of  view.  He  also 
says  that,  if  he  chose  to  write  all  he  saw,  his 
head  would  be  broken  in  several  places. 

Strickland's  account  of  the  agony  he  endured 
on  wet  nights,  hearing  the  music  and  seeing  the 
lights  in  "  Benmore,"  with  his  toes  tingling  for  a 
waltz  and  his  head  in  a  horse-blanket,  is  rather 
amusing.  One  of  these  days,  Strickland  is  going 
to  write  a  little  book  on  his  experiences.  That 
book  will  be  worth  buying ;  and  even  more 
worth  suppressing. 


Miss  Youghal's  Sais  31 

Thus,  he  served  faithfully  as  Jacob  served  for 
Rachel  ;  and  his  leave  was  nearly  at  an  end  when 
the  explosion  came.  He  had  really  done  his 
best  to  keep  his  temper  in  the  hearing  of  the  flir- 
tations I  have  mentioned  ;  but  he  broke  down  at 
last.  An  old  and  very  distinguished  General 
took  Miss  Youghal  for  a  ride,  and  began  that 
specially  offensive  "  you're-only-a-little-girl"  sort 
of  flirtation — most  difficult  for  a  woman  to  turn 
aside  deftly,  and  most  maddening  to  listen  to. 
Miss  Youghal  was  shaking  with  fear  at  the  things 
he  said  in  the  hearing  of  her  sais.  Dulloo — 
Strickland — stood  it  as  long  as  he  could.  Then 
he  caught  hold  of  the  General's  bridle,  and,  in 
most  fluent  English,  invited  him  to  step  off  and 
be  heaved  over  the  cliff.  Next  minute,  Miss 
Youghal  began  crying  ;  and  Strickland  saw  that 
he  had  hopelessly  given  himself  away,  and  every- 
thing was  over. 

The  General  nearly  had  a  fit,  while  Miss 
Youghal  was  sobbing  out  the  story  of  the  dis- 
guise and  the  engagement  that  wasn't  recognized 
by  the  parents.  Strickland  was  furiously  angry 
with  himself  and  more  angry  with  the  General 
for  forcing  his  hand  :  so  he  said  nothing,  but 
held  the  horse's  head  and  prepared  to  thrash 
the  General  as  some  sort  of  satisfaction,  but 
when  the  General  had  thoroughly  grasped  the 
story,  and  knew  who  Strickland  was,  he  began 
to  puff  and  blow  in  the  saddle,  and  nearly  rolled 
off  with  laughing.  He  said  Strickland  deserved 
a  V.  C.,  if  it  were  only  for  putting  on  a  sais's 
blanket.  Then  he  called  himself  names,  and 
vowed  that  he  deserved  a  thrashing,  but  he  was 
too  old  to  take  it  from  Strickland.  Then  he 
complimented  Miss  Youghal  on  her  lover.  The 


32     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

scandal  of  the  business  never  struck  him  ;  for  he 
was  a  nice  old  man,  with  a  weakness  for  flirta- 
tions. Then  he  laughed  again,  and  said  that 
old  Youghal  was  a  fool.  Strickland  let  go  of 
the  cob's  head,  and  suggested  that  the  General 
had  better  help  them,  if  that  was  his  opinion. 
Strickland  knew  Youghal's  weakness  for  men 
with  titles  and  letters  after  their  names  and  high 
official  position.  "  It's  rather  like  a  forty-minute 
farce,"  said  the  General,  "  but,  begad,  I  -will 
help,  if  it's  only  to  escape  that  tremendous 
thrashing  I  deserved.  Go  along  to  your  home, 
my  .rtf/j-Policeman,  and  change  into  decent  kit, 
and  I'll  attack  Mr.  Youghal.  Miss  Youghal, 
may  I  ask  you  to  canter  home  and  wait  ?  " 

About  seven  minutes  later,  there  was  a  wild 
hurroosh  at  the  Club.  A  sais,  with  blanket  and 
head-rope,  was  asking  all  the  men  he  knew  : 
"  For  Heaven's  sake  lend  me  decent  clothes  !  " 
As  the  men  did  not  recognize  him,  there  were 
some  peculiar  scenes  before  Strickland  could 
get  a  hot  bath,  with  soda  in  it,  in  one  room,  a 
shirt  here,  a  collar  there,  a  pair  of  trousers  else- 
where, and  so  on.  He  galloped  off  with  half 
the  Club  wardrobe  on  his  back,  and  an  utter 
stranger's  pony  under  him,  to  the  house  of  old 
Youghal.  The  General,  arrayed  in  purple  and 
fine  linen,  was  before  him.  What  the  General 
had  said  Strickland  never  knew,  but  Youghal 
received  Strickland  with  moderate  civility  ;  and 
Mrs.  Youghal,  touched  by  the  devotion  of  the 
transformed  Dulloo,  was  almost  kind.  The  Gen- 
eral beamed  and  chuckled,  and  Miss  Youghal 
came  in,  and,  almost  before  old  Youghal  knew 
where  he  was,  the  parental  consent  had  been 


Miss  Youghal's  Sais  33 

wrenched  out,  and  Strickland  had  departed  with 
Miss  Youghal  to  the  Telegraph  Office  to  wire 
for  his  kit.  The  final  embarrassment  was  when 
an  utter  stranger  attacked  him  on  the  Mall  and 
asked  for  the  stolen  pony, 

So,  in  the  end,  Strickland  and  Miss  Youghal 
were  married,  on  the  strict  understanding  that 
Strickland  should  drop  his  old  ways,  and  stick 
to  Departmental  routine  which  pays  best  and 
leads  to  Simla.  Strickland  was  far  too  fond  of 
his  wife,  just  then,  to  break  his  word,  but  it  was 
a  sore  trial  to  him ;  for  the  streets  and  the 
bazars,  and  the  sounds  in  them,  were  full  of 
meaning  to  Strickland,  and  these  called  to  him 
to  come  back  and  take  up  his  wanderings  and 
his  discoveries.  Some  day,  I  will  tell  you  how 
he  broke  his  promise  to  help  a  friend.  That 
was  long  since,  and  he  has,  by  this  time,  been 
nearly  spoilt  for  what  he  would  call  shikar.  He 
is  forgetting  the  slang,  and  the  beggar's  cant, 
and  the  marks,  and  the  signs,  and  the  drift  oi 
the  undercurrents,  which,  if  a  man  would  mas- 
ter,  he  must  always  continue  to  learn. 

But  he  fills  in  his  Departmental  returns  beau* 
tifully. 

3 


«  YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER." 

I  am  dying  for  you,  and  you  are  dying  for  another. 

Punjabi  Proverb. 

WHEN  the  Gravesend  tender  left  the  P.  &  O. 
steamer  for  Bombay  and  went  back  to  catch  the 
train  to  Town,  there  were  many  people  in  it  cry- 
ing. But  the  one  who  wept  most,  and  most  openly, 
was  Miss  Agnes  Laiter.  She  had  reason  to  cry, 
because  the  only  man  she  ever  loved — or  ever 
could  love,  so  she  said — was  going  out  to  India  ; 
and  India,  as  every  one  knows,  is  divided  equally 
between  jungle,  tigers,  cobras,  cholera,  and 
sepoys. 

Phil  Garron,  leaning  over  the  side  of  the 
steamer  in  the  rain,  felt  very  unhappy  too,  but  he 
did  not  cry.  He  was  sent  out  to  "  tea."  What 
"tea"  meant  he  had  not  the  vaguest  idea,  but 
fancied  that  he  would  have  to  ride  on  a  prancing 
horse  over  hills  covered  with  tea-vines,  and  draw 
a  sumptuous  salary  for  doing  so  ;  and  he  was 
very  grateful  to  his  uncle  for  getting  him  the 
berth.  He  was  really  going  to  reform  all  his 
slack,  shiftless  ways,  save  a  large  proportion  of 
his  magnificent  salary  yearly,  and,  in  a  very 
short  time,  return  to  marry  Agnes  Laiter.  Phil 
Garron  had  been  lying  loose  on  his  friends' 
hands  for  three  years,  and,  as  he  had  nothing  to 
do,  he  naturally  fell  in  love.  He  was  very  nice  ; 
but  he  was  not  strong  in  his  views  and  opinions 
and  principles,  and  though  he  never  came  to 

34 


"  Yoked  With  An  Unbeliever"    35 

actual  grief  his  friends  were  thankful  when  he 
said  good-by,  and  went  out  to  this  mysterious 
"  tea  "  business  near  Darjiling.  They  said  : — 
"  God  bless  you,  dear  boy  !  Let  us  never  see 
your  face  again," — or  at  least  that  was  what 
Phil  was  given  to  understand. 

When  he  sailed,  he  was  very  full  of  a  great 
plan  to  prove  himself  several  hundred  times 
better  than  any  one  had  given  him  credit  for — 
to  work  like  a  horse,  and  triumphantly  marry 
Agnes  Laiter.  He  had  many  good  points  besides 
his  good  looks  ;  his  only  fault  being  that  he  was 
weak,  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world  weak.  He 
had  as  much  notion  of  economy  as  the  Morning 
Sun  ;  and  yet  you  could  not  lay  your  hand  on 
any  one  item,  and  say  : — "  Herein  PhilGarron  is 
extravagant  or  reckless."  Nor  could  you  point 
out  any  particular  vice  in  his  character  :  but  he 
was  "  unsatisfactory  "  and  as  workable  as  putty. 

Agnes  Laiter  went  about  her  duties  at  home 
— her  family  objected  to  the  engagement — "with 
red  eyes,  while  Phil  was  sailing  to  Darjiling — 
•«  a  port  on  the  Bengal  Ocean,"  as  his  mother 
used  to  tell  her  friends.  He  was  popular  enough 
on  board  ship,  made  many  acquaintances  and  a 
moderately  large  liquor  bill,  and  sent  off  huge 
letters  to  Agnes  Laiter  at  each  port.  Then  he 
fell  to  work  on  this  plantation,  somewhere  be- 
tween Darjiling  and  Kangra,  and,  though  the 
salary  and  the  horse  and  the  work  were  not 
quite  all  he  had  fancied,  he  succeeded  fairly 
well,  and  gave  himself  much  unnecessary  credit 
for  his  perseverance. 

In  the  course  of  time,  as  he  settled  more  into 
collar,  and  his  work  grew  fixed  before  him,  the 
face  of  Agnes  Laiter  went  out  of  his  mind  and 


36     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

only  came  when  he  was  at  leisure,  which  was 
not  often.  He  would  forget  all  about  her  for  a 
fortnight,  and  remember  her  with  a  start,  like  a 
school-boy  who  has  forgotten  to  learn  his  lesson. 
She  did  not  forget  Phil,  because  she  was  of  the 
kind  that  never  forgets.  Only,  another  man — 
a  really  desirable  young  man — presented  himself 
before  Mrs.  Laiter  ;  and  the  chance  of  a  mar- 
riage with  Phil  was  as  far  off  as  ever  ;  and  his 
letters  were  so  unsatisfactory  ;  and  there  was  a 
certain  amount  of  domestic  pressure  brought  to 
bear  on  the  girl  ;  and  the  young  man  really  was 
an  eligible  person  as  incomes  go  ;  and  the  end  of 
all  things  was  that  Agnes  married  him,  and  wrote 
a  tempestuous  whirlwind  of  a  letter  to  Phil  in  the 
wilds  of  Darjiling,  and  said  she  should  never 
know  a  happy  moment  all  the  rest  of  her  life. 
Which  was  a  true  prophecy. 

Phil  got  that  letter,  and  held  himself  ill-treated. 
This  was  two  years  after  he  had  come  out  ;  but 
by  dint  of  thinking  fixedly  of  Agnes  Laiter,  and 
looking  at  her  photograph,  and  patting  himself 
on  the  back  for  being  one  of  the  most  constant 
lovers  in  history,  and  warming  to  the  work  as  he 
went  on,  he  really  fancied  that  he  had  been  very 
hardly  used.  He  sat  down  and  wrote  one  final 
(etter — a  really  pathetic  "  world  without  end, 
amen," — epistle  ;  explaining  how  he  would  be 
true  to  Eternity,  and  that  all  women  were  very 
much  alike,  and  he  would  hide  his  broken  heart, 
etc.,  etc.  ;  but  if,  at  any  future  time,  etc.,  etc.,  he 
could  afford  to  wait,  etc.,  etc.,  unchanged  affec- 
tions, etc.,  etc.,  return  to  her  old  love,  etc.,  etc., 
for  eight  closely-written  pages.  From  an  artistic 
point  of  view,  it  was  very  neat  work,  but  an 
ordinary  Philistine,  who  knew  the  state  of  Phil's 


"Yoked  With  An  Unbeliever"  37 

real  feelings — not  the  ones  he  rose  to  as  he  went 
on  writing — would  have  called  it  the  thoroughly 
mean  and  selfish  work  of  a  thoroughly  mean  and 
selfish,  weak  man.  But  this  verdict  would  have 
been  incorrect.  Phil  paid  for  the  postage,  and 
felt  every  word  he  had  written  for  at  least  two 
days  and  a  half.  It  was  the  last  flicker  before 
the  light  went  out. 

That  letter  made  Agnes  Laiter  very  unhappy, 
and  she  cried  and  put  it  away  in  her  desk,  and 
became  Mrs.  Somebody  Else  for  the  good  of  her 
family.  Which  is  the  first  duty  of  every  Chris- 
tian maid. 

Phil  went  his  ways,  and  thought  no  more  oi 
his  letter,  except  as  an  artist  thinks  of  a  neatly 
touched-in  sketch.  His  ways  were  not  bad,  but 
they  were  not  altogether  good,  until  they  brought 
him  across  Dunmaya,  the  daughter  of  a  Rajput 
ex-Subadar-Major  of  our  Native  Army.  The 
girl  had  a  strain  of  Hill  blood  in  her,  and,  like 
the  Hill-women,  was  not  a  purdah  nashin. 
Where  Phil  met  her,  or  how  he  heard  of  her, 
does  not  matter.  She  was  a  good  girl  and  hand- 
some, and,  in  her  way,  very  clever  and  shrewd  ; 
though,  of  course,  a  little  hard.  It  is  to  be  re- 
membered that  Phil  was  living  very  comfortably, 
denying  himself  no  small  luxury,  never  putting 
by  an  anna,  very  satisfied  with  himself  and  his 
good  intentions,  was  dropping  all  his  English 
correspondents  one  by  one,  and  beginning  more 
and  more  to  look  upon  this  land  as  his  home. 
Some  men  fall  this  way  ;  and  they  are  of  no  use 
afterwards.  The  climate  where  he  was  stationed 
was  good,  and  it  really  did  not  seem  to  him  that 
there  was  anything  to  go  Home  for. 

He  did    what  many   planters  have   done  be» 


38     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

fore  him — that  is  to  say,  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  marry  a  Hill-girl  and  settle  down.  He  was 
seven  and  twenty  then,  with  a  long  life  before 
him,  but  no  spirit  to  go  through  with  it.  So  he 
married  Dunmaya  by  the  forms  of  the  English 
Church,  and  some  fellow-planters  said  he  was  a 
fool,  and  some  said  he  was  a  wise  man.  Dun- 
maya was  a  thoroughly  honest  girl,  and,  in  spite 
of  her  reverence  for  an  Englishman,  had  a  rea- 
sonable estimate  of  her  husband's  weaknesses. 
She  managed  him  tenderly,  and  became,  in  less 
than  a  year,  a  very  passable  imitation  of  an  Eng- 
lish lady  in  dress  and  carriage.  [It  is  curious 
to  think  that  a  Hill-man,  after  a  life-time's  educa- 
tion is  a  Hill-man  still  ;  but  a  Hill-woman  can  in 
six  months  master  most  of  the  ways  of  her  Eng- 
lish sisters.  There  was  a  coolie-woman  once. 
But  that  is  another  story.]  Dunmaya  dressed 
by  preference  in  black  and  yellow,  and  looked 
well. 

Meantime  the  letter  lay  in  Agnes's  desk,  and 
now  and  again  she  would  think  of  poor,  resolute, 
hard-working  Phil  among  the  cobras  and  tigers 
of  Darjiling,  toiling  in  the  vain  hope  that  she 
might  come  back  to  him.  Her  husband  was 
worth  ten  Phils,  except  that  he  had  rheumatisn 
of  the  heart.  Three  years  after  he  was  married, 
— and  after  he  had  tried  Nice  and  Algeria  for 
his  complaint — he  went  to  Bombay,  where  he 
died,  and  set  Agnes  free.  Being  a  devout 
woman,  she  looked  on  his  death  and  the  place 
of  it,  as  a  direct  interposition  of  Providence,  and 
when  she  had  recovered  from  the  shock,  she 
took  out  and  re-read  Phil's  letter  with  the  "  etc., 
etc.,"  and  the  big  dashes,  and  the  little  dashes, 
and  kissed  it  several  times.  No  one  knew  hef 


"  Yoked  With  An  Unbeliever  "  39 

in  Bombay ;  she  had  her  husband's  income, 
which  was  a  large  one,  and  Phil  was  close  at 
hand.  It  was  wrong  and  improper,  of  course, 
but  she  decided,  as  heroines  do  in  novels,  to  find 
her  old  lover,  to  offer  him  her  hand  and  her  gold, 
and  with  him  spend  the  rest  of  her  life  in  some 
spot  far  from  unsympathetic  souls.  She  sat  for 
two  months,  alone  in  Watson's  Hotel,  elaborat- 
ing this  decision,  and  the  picture  was  a  pretty  one. 
Then  she  set  out  in  search  of  Phil  Garron,  Assist- 
ant on  a  tea  plantation  with  a  more  than  usually 
unpronounceable  name. 

She  found  him.  She  spent  a  month  over  it, 
for  his  plantation  was  not  in  the  Darjiling  district 
at  all,  but  nearer  Kangra.  Phil  was  very  little 
altered,  and  Dunmaya  was  very  nice  to  her. 

Now  the  particular  sin  and  shame  of  the 
whole  business  is  that  Phil,  who  really  is  not 
worth  thinking  of  twice,  was  and  is  loved  by 
Dunmaya,  and  more  than  loved  by  Agnes,  the 
whole  of  whose  life  he  seems  to  have  spoilt. 

Worst  of  all,  Dunmaya  is  making  a  decent 
man  of  him  ;  and  he  will  be  ultimately  saved 
from  perdition  through  her  training. 

Which  is  manifestly  unfair. 


FALSE  DAWN. 

To-night  God  knows  what   thing  shall  tide^ 

The  Earth  is  racked  and  faint — 
Expectant,  sleepless,  open  -eyed  ; 
And  we,  who  from  the  Earth  were  made, 

Thrill  with  our  Mother's  pain. 

In  Durance, 

No  man  will  ever  know  the  exact  truth  of  this 
story  ;  though  women  may  sometimes  whisper 
it  to  one  another  after  a  dance,  when  they  are 
putting  up  their  hair  for  the  night  and  compar- 
ing lists  of  victims.  A  man,  of  course,  cannot 
assist  at  these  functions.  So  the  tale  must  be 
told  from  the  outside — in  the  dark — all  wrong. 

Never  praise  a  sister  to  a  sister,  in  the  hope  of 
your  compliments  reaching  the  proper  ears,  and 
so  preparing  the  way  for  you  later  on.  Sisters 
are  women  first,  and  sisters  afterwards  ;  and  you 
will  find  that  you  do  yourself  harm. 

Saumarez  knew  this  when  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  propose  to  the  elder  Miss  Copleigh. 
Saumarez  was  a  strange  man,  with  few  merits, 
so  far  as  men  could  see,  though  he  was  popular 
with  women,  and  carried  enough  conceit  to  stock 
a  Viceroy's  Council  and  leave  a  little  over  for  the 
Commander-in-Chief's  Staff.  He  was  a  Civilian. 
Very  many  women  took  an  interest  in  Saumarez, 
perhaps,  because  his  manner  to  them  was  offen- 
sive. If  you  hit  a  pony  over  the  nose  at  the  out- 
set of  your  acquaintance,  he  may  not  love  you, 
but  he  will  take  a  deep  interest  in  your  move- 
ments ever  afterwards.  The  elder  Miss  Copleigh 
40 


False  Dawn  41 

was  nice,  plump,  winning  and  pretty.  The 
younger  was  not  so  pretty,  and,  from  men  disre- 
garding the  hint  set  forth  above,  her  style  wa? 
repellant  and  unattractive.  Both  girls  had,  prac- 
tically, the  same  figure,  and  there  was  a  strong 
likeness  between  them  in  look  and  voice  ;  though 
no  one  could  doubt  for  an  instant  which  was  the 
nicer  of  the  two. 

Saumarez  made  up  his  mind,  as  soon  as  they 
came  into  the  station  from  Behar,  to  marry  the 
elder  one.  At  least,  we  all  made  sure  that  he 
would,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing.  She 
was  two  and  twenty,  and  he  was  thirty-three, 
with  pay  and  allowances  of  nearly  fourteen  hun- 
dred rupees  a  month.  So  the  match,  as  we  ar- 
ranged it,  was  in  every  way  a  good  one.  Sau- 
marez was  his  name,  and  summary  was  his 
nature,  as  a  man  once  said.  Having  drafted  his 
Resolution,  he  formed  a  Select  Committee  ot 
One  to  sit  upon  it,  and  resolved  to  take  his  time. 
In  our  unpleasant  slang,  the  Copleigh  girls 
«•  hunted  in  couples."  That  is  to  say,  you  could 
do  nothing  with  one  without  the  other.  They 
were  very  loving  sisters  ;  but  their  mutual  affec- 
tion was  sometimes  inconvenient.  Saumarez 
held  the  balance-hair  true  between  them,  and 
none  but  himself  could  have  said  to  which  side 
his  heart  inclined  ;  though  every  one  guessed. 
He  rode  with  them  a  good  deal  and  danced  with 
them,  but  he  never  succeeded  in  detaching  them 
from  each  other  for  any  length  of  time. 

Women  said  that  the  two  girls  kept  together 
through  deep  mistrust,  each  fearing  that  the 
other  would  steal  a  march  on  her.  But  that  has 
nothing  to  do  with  a  man.  Saumarez  was  silent 
for  good  or  bad,  and  as  business-like  attentive 


42     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

as  he  could  be,  having  due  regard  to  his  work 
and  his  polo.  Beyond  doubt  both  girls  were 
fond  of  him. 

As  the  hot  weather  drew  nearer  and  Saumarez 
made  no  sign,  women  said  that  you  could  see 
their  trouble  in  the  eyes  of  the  girls — that  they 
were  looking  strained,  anxious,  and  irritable. 
Men  are  quite  blind  in  these  matters  unless  they 
have  more  of  the  woman  than  the  man  in  their 
composition,  in  which  case  it  does  not  matter, 
what  they  say  or  think.  I  maintain  it  was  the 
hot  April  days  that  took  the  color  out  of  the 
Copleigh  girls'  cheeks.  They  should  have  been 
sent  to  the  Hills  early.  No  one — man  or  woman 
• — feels  an  angel  when  the  hot  weather  is  ap- 
proaching. The  younger  sister  grew  more  cyn- 
ical— not  to  say  acid — in  her  ways  ;  and  the 
winningness  of  the  elder  wore  thin.  There  was 
more  effort  in  it. 

Now  the  Station  wherein  all  these  things  hap- 
pened was,  though  not  a  little  one,  off  the  line 
of  rail,  and  suffered  through  want  of  attention. 
There  were  no  gardens,  or  bands  or  amusements 
worth  speaking  of,  and  it  was  nearly  a  day's 
journey  to  come  into  Lahore  for  a  dance.  Peo- 
ple were  grateful  for  small  things  to  interest 
them. 

About  the  beginning  of  May,  and  just  before 
the  final  exodus  of  Hill-goers,  when  the  weather 
was  very  hot  and  there  were  not  more  -than 
twenty  people  in  the  Station,  Saumarez  gave  a 
moonlight  riding-picnic  at  an  old  tomb,  six  miles 
away,  near  the  bed  of  the  river.  It  was  a 
"  Noah's  Ark  "  picnic  ;  and  there  was  to  be  the 
usual  arrangement  of  quarter-mile  intervals  be- 
tween  each  couple,  on  account  of  the  dust.  Six 


False  Dawn  43 

couples  came  altogether,  including  chaperones. 
Moonlight  picnics  are  useful  just  at  the  very  end 
of  the  season,  before  all  the  girls  go  away  to  the 
Hills.  They  lead  to  understandings,  and  should 
be  encouraged  by  chaperones  ;  especially  those 
whose  girls  look  sweetest  in  riding  habits.  I 
knew  a  case  once.  But  that  is  another  story. 
That  picnic  was  called  the  "  Great  Pop  Picnic," 
because  every  one  knew  Saumarez  would  pro- 
pose then  to  the  eldest  Miss  Copleigh  ;  and,  be- 
sides his  affair,  there  was  another  which  might 
possibly  come  to  happiness.  The  social  atmos- 
phere was  heavily  charged  and  wanted  clearing. 

We  met  at  the  parade-ground  at  ten  :  the 
night  was  fearfully  hot.  The  horses  sweated 
even  at  walking-pace,  but  anything  was  better 
than  sitting  still  in  our  own  dark  houses.  When 
we  moved  off"  under  the  full  moon  we  were  four 
couples,  one  triplet,  and  Mr.  Saumarez  rode 
with  the  Copleigh  girls,  and  I  loitered  at  the  tail 
of  the  procession  wondering  with  whom  Sau- 
marez would  ride  home.  Every  one  was  happy 
and  contented  ;  but  we  all  felt  that  things  were 
going  to  happen.  We  rode  slowly  ;  and  it  was 
nearly  midnight  before  we  reached  the  old  tomb, 
facing  the  ruined  tank,  in  the  decayed  gardens 
where  we  were  going  to  eat  and  drink.  I  was 
late  in  coming  up  ;  and,  before  I  went  in  to  the 
garden,  I  saw  that  the  horizon  to  the  north  car- 
ried a  faint,  dun-colored  feather.  But  no  one 
would  have  thanked  me  for  spoiling  so  well- 
managed  an  entertainment  as  this  picnic — and 
a  dust-storm,  more  or  less,  does  no  great  harm. 

We  gathered  by  the  tank.  Some  one  had 
brought  out  a  banjo — which  is  a  most  senti- 
mental instrument — and  three  or  four  of  us 


44     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

sang.  You  must  not  laugh  at  this.  Our  amuse- 
ments in  out-of-the-way  Stations  are  very  few 
indeed.  Then  we  talked  in  groups  or  together, 
lying  under  the  trees,  with  the  sun-baked  roses 
dropping  their  petals  on  our  feet,  until  supper 
was  ready.  It  was  a  beautiful  supper,  as  cold 
and  as  iced  as  you  could  wish  ;  and  we  stayed 
long  over  it. 

I  had  felt  that  the  air  was  growing  hotter  and 
hotter  ;  but  nobody  seemed  to  notice  it  until  the 
moon  went  out  and  a  burning  hot  wind  began 
lashing  the  orange-trees  with  a  sound  like  the 
noise  of  the  sea.  Before  we  knew  where  we 
were,  the  dust-storm  was  on  us,  and  everything 
was  roaring,  whirling  darkness.  The  supper- 
table  was  blown  bodily  into  the  tank.  We  were 
afraid  of  staying  anywhere  near  the  old  tomb  for 
fear  it  might  be  blown  down.  So  we  felt  our 
way  to  the  orange-trees  where  the  horses  were 
picketed  and  waited  for  the  storm  to  blow  over. 
Then  the  little  light  that  was  left  vanished,  and 
you  could  not  see  your  hand  before  your  face. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  dust  and  sand  from  the 
bed  of  the  river,  that  filled  boots  and  pockets 
and  drifted  down  necks  and  coated  eyebrows 
and  moustaches.  It  was  one  of  the  worst  dust- 
storms  of  the  year.  We  were  all  huddled  to- 
gether close  to  the  trembling  horses,  with  the 
thunder  clattering  overhead,  and  the  lightning 
spurting  like  water  from  a  sluice,  all  ways  at 
once.  There  was  no  danger,  of  course,  unless 
the  horses  broke  loose.  I  was  standing  with  my 
head  downwind  and  my  hands  over  my  mouth, 
hearing  the  trees  thrashing  each  other.  I  could 
not  see  who  was  next  me  till  the  flashes  came. 
Then  I  found  that  I  was  packed  near  Saumarez 


False  Dawn  45 

and  the  eldest  Miss  Copleigh,  with  my  own  horse 
just  in  front  of  me.  I  recognized  the  eldest  Miss 
Copleigh,  because  she  had  a  pagri  round  her 
helmet,  and  the  younger  had  not.  All  the  elec- 
tricity in  the  air  had  gone  into  my  body  and  I 
was  quivering  and  tingling  from  head  to  foot — 
exactly  as  a  corn  shoots  and  tingles  before  rain. 
It  was  a  grand  storm.  The  wind  seemed  to  be 
picking  up  the  earth  and  pitching  it  to  leeward 
in  great  heaps ;  and  the  heat  beat  up  the  ground 
like  the  heat  of  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

The  storm  lulled  slightly  after  the  first  half- 
hour,  and  I  heard  a  despairing  little  voice  close 
to  my  ear,  saying  to  itself,  quietly  and  softly,  as 
if  some  lost  soul  were  flying  about  with  the 
wind  : — "  Oh  my  God  !  "  Then  the  younger 
Miss  Copleigh  stumbled  into  my  arms,  saying : 
"  Where  is  my  horse  ?  Get  my  horse.  I  want 
to  go  home.  I  want  to  go  home.  Take  me 
home." 

I  thought  that  the  lightning  and  the  black 
darkness  had  frightened  her  ;  so  I  said  there  was 
no  danger,  but  she  must  wait  till  the  storm  blew 
over.  She  answered  :  ••  It  is  not  that  I  It  is 
not  that !  I  want  to  go  home  !  Oh  take  me 
away  from  here  !  " 

I  said  that  she  could  not  go  till  the  light  came  ; 
but  I  felt  her  brush  past  me  and  go  away.  It 
was  too  dark  to  see  where.  Then  the  whole 
sky  was  split  open  with  one  tremendous  flash, 
as  if  the  end  of  the  world  were  coming,  and  all 
the  women  shrieked. 

Almost  directly  after  this,  I  felt  a  man's  hand 
on  my  shoulder  and  heard  Saumarez  bellowing 
in  my  ear.  Through  the  rattling  of  the  trees 
and  howling  of  the  wind,  I  did  not  catch  his 


46     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

words  at  once,  but  at  last  I  heard  him  say :— • 
"  I've  proposed  to  the  wrong  one  !  What  shall 
I  do  ?  "  Saumarez  had  no  occasion  to  make  this 
confidence  to  me.  I  was  never  a  friend  of  his, 
nor  am  I  now  ;  but  I  fancy  neither  of  us  were 
ourselves  just  then.  He  was  shaking  as  he  stood 
with  excitement,  and  I  was  feeling  queer  all  over 
with  the  electricity.  I  could  not  think  of  any- 
thing to  say  except : — "  More  fool  you  for  pro- 
posing in  a  dust  storm."  But  I  did  not  see  how 
that  would  improve  the  mistake. 

Then  he  shouted  : — "  Where's  Edith — Edith 
Copleigh  ?  "  Edith  was  the  younger  sister.  I 
answered  out  of  my  astonishment  : — "  What  do 
you  want  with  her  ? "  Would  you  believe  it, 
for  the  next  two  minutes,  he  and  I  were  shout- 
ing at  each  other  like,  maniacs/ — he  vowing  that 
it  was  the  younger  sister  he  had  meant  to  pro- 
pose to  all  along,  and  I  telling  him  till  my  throat 
was  hoarse  that  he  must  have  made  a  mistake  ! 
I  can't  account  for  this  except,  again,  by  the 
fact  that  we  were  neither  of  us  ourselves.  Every- 
thing seemed  to  me  like  a  bad  dream — from  the 
stamping  of  the  horses  in  the  darkness  to  Sau- 
marez telling  me  the  story  of  his  loving  Edith 
Gopleigh  since  the  first.  He  was  still  clawing 
my  shoulder  and  begging  me  to  tell  him  where 
Edith  Copleigh  was,  when  another  lull  came  and 
brought  light  with  it,  and  we  saw  the  dust-cloud 
forming  on  the  plain  in  front  of  us.  So  we  knew 
the  worst  was  over.  The  moon  was  low  down, 
and  there  was  just  the  glimmer  of  the  false  dawn 
that  comes  about  an  hour  before  the  real  one. 
But  the  light  was  very  faint,  and  the  dun  cloud 
roared  like  a  bull.  I  wondered  where  Edith 
Copleigh  had  gone  ;  and  as  I  was  wondering  I 


False  Dawn  47 

saw  three  things  together  :  First,  Maud  Copleigh's 
face  come  smiling  out  of  the  darkness  and  move 
towards  Saumarez  who  was  standing  by  me.  I 
heard  the  girl  whisper  : — "  George,"  and  slide 
her  arm  through  the  arm  that  was  not  clawing 
my  shoulder,  and  I  saw  that  look  on  her  face 
which  only  comes  once  or  twice  in  a  lifetime — 
when  a  woman  is  perfectly  happy  and  the  air  is 
full  of  trumpets  and  gorgeous-colored  fire  and 
the  Earth  turns  into  cloud  because  she  loves  and 
is  loved.  At  the  same  time,  I  saw  Saumarez's 
face  as  he  heard  Maud  Copleigh's  voice,  and 
fifty  yards  away  from  the  clump  of  orange-trees, 
I  saw  a  brown  holland  habit  getting  upon  a 
horse. 

It  must  have  been  my  state  of  over-excitement 
that  made  me  so  quick  to  meddle  with  what  did 
not  concern  me.  Saumarez  was  moving  off  to 
the  habit ;  but  I  pushed  him  back  and  said  : — . 
"  Stop  here  and  explain.  I'll  fetch  her  back  !  H 
And  I  ran  out  to  get  at  my  own  horse.  I  had  a 
perfectly  unnecessary  notion  that  everything 
must  be  done  decently  and  in  order,  and  that 
Saumarez's  first  care  was  to  wipe  the  happy  look 
out  of  Maud  Copleigh's  face.  All  the  time  I  was 
linking  up  the  curb-chain  I  wondered  how  he 
would  do  it. 

I  cantered  after  Edith  Copleigh,  thinking  to 
bring  her  back  slowly  on  some  pretence  or 
another.  But  she  galloped  away  as  soon  as  she 
saw  me,  and  I  was  forced  to  ride  after  her  in 
earnest.  She  called  back  over  her  shoulder — "  Go 
away  !  I'm  going  home.  Oh,  go  away  /"  two 
or  three  times  ;  but  my  business  was  to  catch 
her  first,  and  argue  later.  The  ride  just  fitted  in 
with  the  rest  of  the  evil  dream.  The  ground 


48     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

was  very  bad,  and  now  and  again  we  rushed 
through  the  whirling,  choking  "  dust-devils  "  in 
the  skirts  of  the  flying  storm.  There  was  a 
burning  hot  wind  blowing  that  brought  up  a 
stench  of  stale  brick-kilns  with  it  ;  and  through 
the  half  light  and  through  the  dust-devils,  across 
that  desolate  plain,  flickered  the  brown  holland 
habit  on  the  gray  horse.  She  headed  for  the 
Station  at  first.  Then  she  wheeled  round  and 
set  off  for  the  river  through  beds  of  burnt  down 
jungle-grass,  bad  even  to  ride  pig  over.  In  cold 
blood  I  should  never  have  dreamed  of  going  over 
such  a  country  at  night,  but  is  seemed  quite 
right  and  natural  with  the  lightning  crackling 
over  head,  and  a  reek  like  the  smell  of  the  Pit 
in  my  nostrils.  I  rode  and  shouted,  and  she  bent 
forward  and  lashed  her  horse,  and  the  aftermath 
of  the  dust-storm  came  up  and  caught  us  both, 
and  drove  us  downwind  like  pieces  of  paper. 

I  don't  know  how  far  we  rode  ;  but  the  drum- 
ming of  the  horse-hoofs  and  the  roar  of  the 
wind  and  the  race  of  the  faint  blood-red  moon 
through  the  yellow  mist  seemed  to  have  gone  on 
for  years  and  years,  and  I  was  literally  drenched 
with  sweat  from  my  helmet  to  my  gaiters  when 
the  gray  stumbled,  recovered  himself,  and  pulled 
up  dead  lame.  My  brute  was  used  up  alto- 
gether. Edith  Copleigh  was  in  a  sad  state, 
plastered  with  dust,  her  helmet  off,  and  crying 
bitterly.  "  Why  can't  you  let  me  alone  ?  "  she 
said.  "I  only  wanted  to  get  away  and  go  home, 
Oh,  please  let  me  go  !  " 

"  You  have  got  to  come  back  with  me,  Miss 
Copleigh,  Saumarez  has  something  to  say  to 
you." 

It  was  a  foolish  way  of  putting  it  ;  but  I  hardly 


False  Dawn  49 

knew  Miss  Copleigh,  and,  though  I  was  playing 
Providence  at  the  cost  of  my  horse,  I  could  not 
tell  her  in  as  many  words  what  Saumarez  had 
told  me.  I  thought  he  could  do  that  better 
himself.  All  her  pretense  about  being  tired  and 
wanting  to  go  home  broke  down,  and  she  rocked 
herself  to  and  fro  in  the  saddle  as  she  sobbed, 
and  the  hot  wind  blew  her  black  hair  to  leeward. 
I  am  not  going  to  repeat  what  she  said,  because 
she  was  utterly  unstrung. 

This,  if  you  please,  was  the  cynical  Miss  Cop- 
leigh.  Here  was  I,  almost  an  utter  stranger  to 
her,  trying  to  tell  her  that  Saumarez  loved  her 
and  she  was  to  come  back  to  hear  him  say  so  ? 
I  believe  I  made  myself  understood,  for  she 
gathered  the  gray  together  and  made  him  hobble 
somehow,  and  we  set  off  for  the  tomb,  while  the 
storm  went  thundering  down  to  Umballa  and  a 
few  big  drops  of  warm  rain  fell.  I  found  out 
that  she  had  been  standing  close  to  Saumarez 
when  he  proposed  to  her  sister,  and  had  wanted 
to  go  home  to  cry  in  peace,  as  an  English  girl 
should.  She  dabbed  her  eyes  with  her  pocket- 
handkerchief  as  we  went  along,  and  babbled  tc 
me  out  of  sheer  lightness  of  heart  and  hysteria. 
That  was  perfectly  unnatural  ;  and  yet,  it  seemed 
all  right  at  the  time  and  in  the  place.  All  the 
world  was  only  the  two  Copleigh  girls,  Saumarez 
and  I,  ringed  in  with  the  lightning  and  the 
dark;  and  the  guidance  of  this  misguided  world 
seemed  to  lie  in  my  hands. 

When  we  returned  to  the  tomb  in  the  deep, 
dead  stillness  that  followed  the  storm,  the  dawn 
was  just  breaking  and  nobody  had  gone  away. 
They  were  waiting  for  our  return.  Saumarey 
most  of  all.  His  face  was  white  and  drawn. 


50     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

As  Miss  Copleigh  and  I  limped  up,  he  came  for- 
ward to  meet  us,  and,  when  he  helped  her  clown 
from  her  saddle,  he  kissed  her  before  all  the 
picnic.  It  was  like  a  scene  in  a  theater,  and  the 
likeness  was  heightened  by  all  the  dust-white, 
ghostly  looking  men  and  women  under  the 
orange-trees,  clapping  their  hands — as  if  they 
were  watching  a  play — at  Saumarez's  choice.  I 
never  knew  anything  so  un-English  in  my  life. 

Lastly,  Saumarez  said  we  must  all  go  home  or 
the  Station  would  come  out  to  look  for  us,  and 
would  I  be  good  enough  to  ride  home  with  Maud 
Copleigh  ?  Nothing  would  give  me  greater 
pleasure,  I  said. 

So,  we  formed  up,  six  couples  in  all,  and  went 
back  two  by  two  ;  Saumarez  walking  at  the  side 
oi  Edith  Copleigh,  who  was  riding  his  horse. 

The  air  was  cleared  ;  and  little  by  little,  as  the 
sun  rose,  I  felt  we  were  all  dropping  back  again 
into  ordinary  men  and  women  and  that  the 
"Great  Pop  Picnic"  was  a  thing  altogether  apart 
and  out  of  the  world — never  to  happen  again. 
It  had  gone  with  the  dust  storm  and  the  tingle  in 
the  hot  air. 

I  felt  tired  and  limp,  and  a  good  deal  ashamed 
of  myself,  as  I  went  in  for  a  bath  and  some  sleep. 

There  is  a  woman's  version  of  this  story,  but 
it  will  never  be  written  ....  unless  Maud  Cop- 
leigh cares  to  try. 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES. 

Thus,  for  a  season,  they  fought  it  fair, — 

She  and  his  cousin  May — 
Tactful,  talented,  debonaire, 

Decorous  foes  were  they  ; 
But  never  can  battle  of  man  compare 

With  merciless  feminine  fray. 

Two  and  One. 

MRS.  HAUKSBEE  was  sometimes  nice  to  her 
sex.  Here  is  a  story  to  prove  this  ;  and  you  can 
believe  just  as  much  as  ever  you  please. 

Pluffles  was  a  subaltern  in  the  "  Unmention- 
ables." He  was  callow,  even  for  a  subaltern. 
He  was  callow  all  over — like  a  canary  that  had 
not  finished  fledging  itself.  The  worst  ol  it  was 
he  had  three  times  as  much  money  as  was  good 
for  him  ;  Pluffles'  Papa  being  a  rich  man  and 
Pluffles  being  the  only  son,  Pluffles'  Mama 
adored  him.  She  was  only  a  little  less  callow 
than  Pluffles  and  she  believed  everything  he  said. 

Pluffles'  weakness  was  not  believing  what  peo- 
ple said.  He  preferred  what  he  called  "  trust- 
ing to  his  own  judgment."  He  had  as  much 
judgment  as  he  had  seat  or  hands  ;  and  this 
preference  tumbled  him  into  trouble  once  or 
twice.  But  the  biggest  trouble  Pluffles  ever 
manufactured  came  about  at  Simla — some  years 
ago,  when  he  was  four-and-twenty. 

He  began  by  trusting  to  his  own  judgment,  as 
usual,  and  the  result  was  that,  after  a  time,  he 
was  bound  hand  and  foot  to  Mrs.  Reiver's  'rick- 
shaw wheels. 

51 


52     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

There  was  nothing  good  about  Mrs.  Reiver, 
unless  it  was  her  dress.  She  was  bad  from  her 
hair — which  started  life  on  a  Brittany  girl's  head 
— to  her  boot-heels  which  were  two  and  three- 
eighth  inches  high.  She  was  not  honestly  mis- 
chievous like  Mrs.  Hauksbee  ;  she  was  wicked 
in  a  business-like  way. 

There  was  never  any  scandal — she  had  not 
generous  impulses  enough  for  that.  She  was 
the  exception  which  proved  the  rule  that  Anglo- 
Indian  ladies  are  in  every  way  as  nice  as  their 
sisters  at  Home.  She  spent  her  life  in  proving 
that  rule. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  and  she  hated  each  other  fer- 
vently. They  heard  far  too  much  to  clash  ;  but 
the  things  they  said  of  each  other  were  startling — 
not  to  say  original.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  honest — 
honest  as  her  own  front  teeth — and,  but  for  her 
love  of  mischief,  would  have  been  a  woman's 
woman.  There  was  no  honesty  about  Mrs. 
Reiver ;  nothing  but  selfishness.  And  at  the 
beginning  of  the  season,  poor  little  Pluffles  fell 
a  prey  to  her.  She  laid  herself  out  to  that  end, 
and  who  was  Pluffles  to  resist?  He  went  on 
trusting  to  his  judgment,  and  he  got  judged. 

I  have  seen  Hayes  argue  with  a  tough  horse — 
I  have  seen  a  tonga-driver  coerce  a  stubborn 
pony — I  have  seen  a  riotous  setter  broken  to  gun 
by  a  hard  keeper — but  the  breaking-in  of  Pluffles 
of  the  "  Unmentionables  "  was  beyond  all  these. 
He  learned  to  fetch  and  carry  like  a  dog,  and  to 
wait  like  one,  too,  for  a  word  from  Mrs.  Reiver. 
He  learned  to  keep  appointments  which  Mrs. 
Reiver  had  no  intention  of  keeping.  He  learned 
to  take  thankfully  dances  which  Mrs.  Reiver  had 
no  intention  of  giving  him.  He  learned  to  shiver 


The  Rescue  of  Pluffles        53 

for  an  hour  and  a  quarter  on  the  windward  side 
of  Elysium  while  Mrs.  Reiver  was  making  up 
her  mind  to  come  for  a  ride.  He  learned  to 
hunt  for  a  'rickshaw,  in  a  light  dress-suit  under 
pelting  rain,  and  to  walk  by  the  side  of  that  'rick- 
shaw when  he  had  found  it.  He  learned  what 
it  was  to  be  spoken  to  like  a  coolie  and  ordered 
about  like  a  cook.  He  learned  all  this  and  many 
other  things  besides.  And  he  paid  for  his 
schooling. 

Perhaps,  in  some  hazy  way,  he  fancied  that  it 
was  fine  and  impressive,  that  it  gave  him  a  status 
among  men,  and  was  altogether  the  thing  to  do. 
It  was  nobody's  business  to  warn  Pluffles  that 
he  was  unwise.  The  pace  that  season  was 
too  good  to  inquire  ;  and  meddling  with 
another  man's  folly  is  always  thankless  work. 
Pluffles'  Colonel  should  have  ordered  him  back 
to  his  regiment  when  he  heard  how  things  were 
going.  But  Pluffles  had  got  himself  engaged  to 
a  girl  in  England  the  last  time  he  went  Home ; 
and  if  there  was  one  thing  more  than  another 
which  the  Colonel  detested,  it  was  a  married 
subaltern.  He  chuckled  when  he  heard  of  the 
education  of  Pluffles,  and  said  it  was  "  good 
training  for  the  boy."  But  it  was  not  good 
training  in  the  least.  It  led  him  to  spending 
money  beyond  his  means,  which  were  good  : 
above  that,  the  education  spoilt  the  average  boy 
and  made  it  a  tenth-rate  man  of  an  objectionable 
kind.  He  wandered  into  a  bad  set,  and  his 
little  bill  at  Hamilton's  was  a  thing  to  wonder 
at. 

Then  Mrs.  Hauksbee  rose  to  the  occasion. 
She  played  her  game  alone,  knowing  what  peo- 
ple would  say  of  her  :  and  she  played  it  for  the 


54     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

sake  of  a  girl  she  had  never  seen.  Pluffles1 
fiancee  was  to  come  out,  under  the  chaperonage 
of  an  aunt,  in  October,  to  be  married  to  Pluffles. 

At  the  beginning  of  August,  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
discovered  that  it  was  time  to  interfere.  A  man 
who  rides  much  knows  exactly  what  a  horse  is 
going  to  do  next  before  he  does  it.  In  the  same 
way,  a  woman  of  Mrs.  Hauksbee's  experience 
knows  accurately  how  a  boy  will  behave  under 
certain  circumstances — notably  when  he  is  infat- 
uated with  one  of  Mrs.  Reiver's  stamp.  She  said 
that,  sooner  or  later,  little  Pluffles  would  break  oft 
that  engagement  for  nothing  at  all — simply  to 
gratify  Mrs.  Reiver,  who,  in  return,  would  keep 
him  at  her  feet  and  in  her  service  just  so  long  as 
she  found  it  worth  her  while.  She  said  she 
knew  the  signs  of  these  things.  If  she  did  not, 
no  one  else  could. 

Then  she  went  forth  to  capture  Pluffles  under 
the  guns  of  the  enemy  ;  just  as  Mrs.  Cusack- 
Bremmil  carried  away  Bremmil  under  Mrs. 
Hauksbee's  eyes. 

This  particular  engagement  lasted  seven 
weeks — we  called  it  the  Seven  Weeks' War — and 
was  fought  out  inch  by  inch  on  both  sides.  A 
detailed  account  would  fill  a  book,  and  would  be 
incomplete  then.  Any  one  who  knows  about 
these  things  can  fit  in  the  details  for  himself.  It 
was  a  superb  fight — there  will  never  be  another 
like  it  as  long  as  Jakko  stands — and  Pluffles  was 
the  prize  of  victory.  People  said  shameful  things 
about  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  They  did  not  know  what 
she  was  playing  for.  Mrs.  Reiver  fought,  partly 
because  Pluffles  was  useful  to  her,  but  mainly 
because  she  hated  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  and  the  matter 
was  a  trial  of  strength  between  them.  No  one 


The  Rescue  of  Pluffles        55 

knows  what  Pluffles  thought.  He  had  not  many 
ideas  at  the  best  of  times,  and  the  few  he  possessed 
made  him  conceited.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  said  : — 
"  The  boy  must  be  caught ;  and  the  only  way  of 
catching  him  is  by  treating  him  well." 

So  she  treated  him  as  a  man  ot  the  world  and 
of  experience  so  long  as  the  issue  was  doubtful. 
Little  by  little  Pluffles  fell  away  from  his  old 
allegiance  and  came  over  to  the  enemy,  by  whom 
he  was  made  much  of.  He  was  never  sent  on  out- 
post duty  after  'rickshaws  any  more,  nor  was  he 
given  dances  which  never  came  off,  nor  were  the 
drains  on  his  purse  continued.  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
held  him  on  the  snaffle  ;  and,  after  his  treat- 
ment at  Mrs.  Reiver's  hands,  he  appreciated  the 
change. 

Mrs.  Reiver  had  broken  him  of  talking  about 
himself,  and  made  him  talk  about  her  own  merits. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  acted  otherwise,  and  won  his 
confidence,  till  he  mentioned  his  engagement  to 
the  girl  at  Home,  speaking  of  it  in  a  high  and 
mighty  way  as  a  "  piece  of  boyish  folly."  This 
was  when  he  was  taking  tea  with  her  one  after- 
noon, and  discoursing  in  what  he  considered  a 
gay  and  fascinating  style.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  had 
seen  an  earlier  generation  of  his  stamp  bud  and 
blossom,  and  decay  into  fat  Captains  and  tubby 
Majors. 

At  a  moderate  estimate  there  were  about  three 
and  twenty  sides  to  that  lady's  character.  Some 
men  say  more.  She  began  to  talk  to  Pluffles 
atter  the  manner  of  a  mother,  and  as  if  there  had 
been  three  hundred  years,  instead  of  fifteen,  be- 
tween them.  She  spoke  with  a  sort  of  throaty 
quaver  in  her  voice  which  had  a  soothing  effect, 
though  what  she  said  was  anything  but  soothing. 


56     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

She  pointed  out  the  exceeding  folly,  not  to  say 
meanness,  of  Pluffles'  conduct,  and  the  smallness 
of  his  views.  Then  he  stammered  something 
about  "  trusting  to  his  own  judgment  as  a  man 
of  the  world  ;  "  and  this  paved  the  way  for  what 
she  wanted  to  say  next.  It  would  have  withered 
up  Pluffles  had  it  come  from  any  other  woman  ; 
but  in  the  soft  cooing  style  in  which  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee  put  it,  it  only  made  him  feel  limp  and  repent- 
ant— as  if  he  had  been  in  some  superior  kind  of 
church.  Little  by  little,  very  softly  and  pleas- 
antly, she  began  taking  the  conceit  out  of  Pluffles, 
as  you  take  the  ribs  out  of  an  umbrella  before 
re-covering  it.  She  told  him  what  she  thought 
of  him  and  his  judgment  and  his  knowledge  of 
the  world  ;  and  how  his  performances  had  made 
him  ridiculous  to  other  people  ;  and  how  it  was 
his  intention  to  make  love  to  herself  if  she  gave 
him  the  chance.  Then  she  said  that  marriage 
would  be  the  making  of  him  ;  and  drew  a  pretty 
little  picture — all  rose  and  opal — of  the  Mrs. 
Pluffles  of  the  future  going  through  life  relying 
on  the  "judgment"  and  "knowledge  of  the 
world  "  of  a  husband  who  had  nothing  to  re- 
proach himself  with.  How  she  reconciled  these 
two  statements  she  alone  knew.  But  they  did 
not  strike  Pluffles  as  conflicting. 

Hers  was  a  perfect  little  homily — much  better 
than  any  clergyman  could  have  given — and  it 
ended  with  touching  allusions  to  Pluffles'  Ma- 
ma and  Papa,  and  the  wisdom  of  taking  his  bride 
Home. 

Then  she  sent  Pluffles  out  for  a  walk,  to  think 
over  what  she  had  said.  Pluffles  left,  blowing 
hie  nose  very  hard  and  holding  himself  very 
straight.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  laughed. 


The  Rescue  of  Pluffles        57 

What  Pluffles  had  intended  to  do  in  the  matter 
of  the  engagement  only  Mrs.  Reiver  knew,  and 
she  kept  her  own  counsel  to  her  death.  She 
would  have  liked  it  spoiled  as  a  compliment,  1 
fancy. 

Pluffles  enjoyed  many  talks  with  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee  during  the  next  few  days.  They  were  all 
to  the  same  end,  and  they  helped  Pluffles  in  the 
path  of  Virtue. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  wanted  to  keep  him  under  her 
wing  to  the  last.  Therefore  she  discountenanced 
his  going  down  to  Bombay  to  get  married. 
"  Goodness  only  knows  what  might  happen  by 
the  way  ! "  she  said.  "  Pluffles  is  cursed  with 
the  curse  of  Reuben,  and  India  is  no  fit  place 
for  him  ! " 

In  the  end,  \h&fiancte  arrived  with  her  aunt  ; 
and  Pluffles,  having  reduced  his  affairs  to  some 
sort  of  order — here  again  Mrs.  Hauksbee  helped 
him — was  married. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  when 
both  the  "  I  wills  "  had  been  said,  and  went  her 
way. 

Pluffles  took  her  advice  about  going  Home. 
He  left  the  Service,  and  is  now  raising  speckled 
cattle  inside  green  painted  fences  somewhere  at 
Home.  I  believe  he  does  this  very  judiciously. 
He  would  have  come  to  extreme  grief  out  here. 

For  these  reasons  if  any  one  says  anything 
more  than  usually  nasty  about  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
tell  him  the  story  of  the  Rescue  of  Pluffles. 


CUPID'S  ARROWS. 

Pit  where  the  buffalo  cooled  his  hide, 

By  the  hot  sun  emptied,  and  blistered  and  dried) 

Log  in  the  re A-grass,  hidden  and  lone  ; 

Bund  where  the  earth-rat's  mounds  are  strown ; 

Cave  in  the  bank  where  the  sly  stream  steals  ; 

Aloe  that  stabs  at  the  belly  and  heels, 

Jump  if  you  dare  on  a  steed  untried — 

Safer  it  is  to  go  wide — go  wide  ! 

Hark,  from  in  front  where  the  best  men  ride  : 

"  Pull  to  the  off,  boys  1     Wide  I    Go  wide  !  " 

The  Peora  Hunt. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  at  Simla  a  very 
pretty  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  poor  but  honest 
District  and  Sessions  Judge.  She  was  a  good 
girl,  but  could  not  help  knowing  her  power  and 
using  it.  Her  Mama  was  very  anxious  about 
her  daughter's  future,  as  all  good  Mamas 
should  be. 

When  a  man  is  a  Commissioner  and  a  bache- 
lor and  has  the  right  of  wearing  open-work  jam- 
tart  jewels  in  gold  and  enamel  on  his  clothes, 
and  of  going  through  a  door  before  every  one 
except  a  Member  of  Council,  a  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor,  or  a  Viceroy,  he  is  worth  marrying.  At 
least,  that  is  what  ladies  say.  There  was  a  Com- 
missioner in  Simla,  in  those  days,  who  was,  and 
wore,  and  did,  all  I  have  said.  He  was  a  plain 
man — an  ugly  man — the  ugliest  man  in  Asia, 
with  two  exceptions.  His  was  a  face  to  dream 
about  and  try  to  carve  on  a  pipe-head  after- 
wards. His  name  was  Saggott — Barr-Saggott — 
Anthony  Barr-Saggott  and  six  letters  to  follow. 
Departmentally,  he  was  one  of  the  best  men  the 

58 


Cupid's  Arrows  59 

Government  of  India  owned.  Socially,  he  was 
like  a  blandishing  gorilla. 

When  he  turned  his  attentions  to  Miss  Beigh- 
ton,  I  believe  that  Mrs.  Beighton  wept  with  de- 
light at  the  reward  Providence  had  sent  her  in 
her  old  age. 

Mr.  Beighton  held  his  tongue.  He  was  an 
easy-going  man. 

Now  a  Commissioner  is  very  rich.  His  pay 
is  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice — is  so  enormous 
that  he  can  afford  to  save  and  scrape  in  a  way 
that  would  almost  discredit  a  Member  of  Council. 
Most  Commissioners  are  mean  ;  but  Barr-Sag- 
gott  was  an  exception.  He  entertained  royally  ; 
he  horsed  himself  well ;  he  gave  dances  ;  he 
was  a  power  in  the  land  ;  and  he  behaved  as 
such. 

Consider  that  everything  I  am  writing  of  took 
place  in  an  almost  pre-historic  era  in  the  history 
ol  British  India.  Some  folk  may  remember  the 
years  before  lawn-tennis  was  born  when  we  all 
played  croquet.  There  were  seasons  before  that, 
if  you  will  believe  me,  when  even  croquet  had 
not  been  invented,  and  archery — which  was  re- 
vived in  England  in  1844 — was  as  great  a  pest  as 
lawn-tennis  is  now.  People  talked  learnedly 
about  "  holding  "  and  "  loosing,"  "  steles,"  "re- 
flexed  bows,"  "  56-pound  bows,"  "  backed  "  or 
"  self-yew  bows,"  as  we  talk  about  "  rallies," 
"  volleys,"  "  smashes,"  "  returns,"  and  "  i6-ounce 
rackets." 

Miss  Beighton  shot  divinely  over  ladies'  dis- 
tance— 60  yards,  that  is — and  was  acknowledged 
the  best  lady  archer  in  Simla.  Men  called  her 
"  Diana  of  Tara-Devi." 

Bar-Saggott  paid  her  great  attention  ;  and,  as 


60     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

I  have  said,  the  heart  of  her  mother  was  uplifted 
in  consequence.  Kitty  Beighton  took  matters 
more  calmly.  It  was  pleasant  to  be  singled  out 
by  a  Commissioner  with  letters  after  his  name, 
and  to  fill  the  hearts  of  other  girls  with  bad  feel- 
ings. But  there  was  no  denying  the  fact  that 
Barr-Saggott  was  phenomenally  ugly  ;  and  all 
his  attempts  to  adorn  himself  only  made  him 
more  grotesque.  He  was  not  christened  "  The 
Langur  " — which  means  gray  ape — for  nothing. 
It  was  pleasant,  Kitty  thought,  to  have  him  at 
her  feet,  but  it  was  better  to  escape  1rom  him 
and  ride  with  the  graceless  Cubbon — the  man  in 
a  Dragoon  Regiment  at  Umballa — the  boy  with 
a  handsome  face,  and  no  prospects.  Kitty  liked 
Cubbon  more  than  a  little.  He  never  pretended 
for  a  moment  that  he  was  anything  less  than 
head  over  heels  in  love  with  her  ;  for  he  was  an 
honest  boy.  So  Kitty  fled  now  and  again,  from 
the  stately  wooings  of  Barr-Saggott  to  the  com- 
pany of  young  Cubbon,  and  was  scolded  by  her 
Mama  in  consequence.  "  But,  Mother,"  she 
said,  "  Mr.  Saggott  is  such — such  a — is  so  fear - 
fully  ugly,  you  know  !  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Beighton  piously,  "  we 
cannot  be  other  than  an  all-ruling  Providence 
has  made  us.  Besides,  you  will  take  precedence 
of  your  own  Mother,  you  know  !  Think  of  that 
and  be  reasonable." 

Then  Kitty  put  up  her  little  chin  and  said  ir- 
reverent things  about  precedence,  and  Commis- 
sioners, and  matrimony.  Mr.  Beighton  rubbed 
the  top  of  his  head  ;  for  he  was  an  easy-going 
man. 

Late  in  the  season,  when  he  judged  that  the 
time  was  ripe,  Barr-Saggott  developed  a  plan 


Cupid's  Arrows  01 

which  did  great  credit  to  his  administrative 
powers.  He  arranged  an  archery-tournament 
for  ladies  with  a  most  sumptuous  diamond- 
studded  bracelet  as  prize.  He  drew  up  his  terms 
skilfully,  and  every  one  saw  that  the  bracelet  was 
a  gift  to  Miss  Beighton  ;  the  acceptance  carrying 
with  it  the  hand  and  the  heart  of  Commissioner 
Barr-Saggott.  The  terms  were  a  St.  Leonard's 
Round — thirty-six  shots  at  sixty  yards — under 
the  rules  of  the  Simla  Toxophilite  Society. 

All  Simla  was  invited.  There  were  beautifully 
arranged  tea-tables  under  the  deodars  at  Annan- 
dale,  where  the  Grand  Stand  is  now  ;  and,  alone 
in  its  glory,  winking  in  the  sun,  sat  the  diamond 
bracelet  in  a  blue  velvet  case.  Miss  Beighton 
was  anxious — almost  too  anxious — to  compete. 
On  the  appointed  afternoon,  all  Simla  rode  clown 
to  Annandale  to  witness  the  Judgment  of  Paris 
turned  upside  clown.  Kitty  rode  with  young 
Cubbon,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  boy  was 
troubled  in  his  mind.  He  must  be  held  innocent 
of  everything  that  followed.  Kitty  was  pale  and 
nervous,  and  looked  long  at  the  bracelet.  Barr- 
Saggot  was  gorgeously  dressed,  even  more  nerv- 
ous than  Kitty,  and  more  hideous  than  ever. 

Mrs.  Beighton  smiled  condescendingly,  as  be- 
fitted the  mother  of  a  potential  Commissioneress, 
and  the  shooting  began  ;  all  the  world  standing 
a  semicircle  as  the  ladies  came  out  one  after  the 
other. 

Nothing  is  so  tedious  as  an  archery  competi- 
tion. They  shot,  and  they  shot,  and  they  kept 
on  shooting,  till  the  sun  left  the  valley,  and  little 
breezes  got  up  in  the  deodars,  and  people  waited 
for  Miss  Beighton  to  shoot  and  win.  Cubbon 
was  at  one  horn  of  the  semicircle  round  the 


62     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

shooters,  and  Barr-Saggot  at  the  other.  Miss 
Beighton  was  last  on  the  list.  The  scoring  had 
been  weak,  and  the  bracelet,  plus  Commissioner 
Barr-Saggott,  was  hers  to  a  certainty. 

The  Commissioner  strung  her  bow  with  his 
own  sacred  hands.  She  stepped  forward,  looked 
at  the  bracelet,  and  her  first  arrow  went  true  to 
a  hair — full  into  the  heart  of  the  "  gold  "--count- 
ing nine  points. 

Young  Cubbon  on  the  left  turned  white,  and 
his  Devi  prompted  Barr-Saggot  to  smile.  Now 
horses  used  to  shy  when  Barr-Saggot  smiled. 
Kitty  saw  that  smile.  She  looked  to  her  left- 
front,  gave  an  almost  imperceptible  nod  to  Cub- 
bon, and  went  on  shooting. 

I  wish  I  could  describe  the  scene  that  fol- 
lowed. It  was  out  of  the  ordinary  and  most  im- 
proper. Miss  Kitty  fitted  her  arrows  with 
immense  deliberation,  so  that  every  one  might 
see  what  she  was  doing.  She  was  a  perfect 
shot ;  and  her  46-pound  bow  suited  her  to  a 
nicety.  She  pinned  the  wooden  legs  of  the  target 
with  great  care  four  successive  times.  She 
pinned  the  wooden  lop  of  the  target  once,  and 
all  the  ladies  looked  at  each  other.  Then  she 
began  some  fancy  shooting  at  the  white,  which  if 
you  hit  it,  counts  exactly  one  point.  She  put 
five  arrows  into  the  white.  It  was  wonderful 
archery  ;  but,  seeing  that  her  business  was  to 
make  "golds  "  and  win  the  bracelet,  Barr-Sag- 
got turned  a  delicate  green  like  young  water- 
grass.  Next,  she  shot  over  the  target  twice, 
then  wide  to  the  left  twice — always  with  the 
same  deliberation — while  a  chilly  hush  fell  over 
the  company,  and  Mrs.  Beighton  took  out  her 
handkerchief.  Then  Kitty  shot  at  the  ground  in 


Cupid's  Arrows  63 

front  of  the  target,  and  split  several  arrows. 
Then  she  made  a  red — or  seven  points — just  to 
show  what  she  could  do  if  she  liked,  and  she 
finished  up  her  amazing  performance  with  some 
more  fancy  shooting  at  the  target  supports. 
Here  is  her  score  as  it  was  pricked  off: — 

Gold.  Red.  Blue.  Black.  White.  Total  Hits.  Total  Score. 
Miss  Beighton  11005  7  21 

Barr-Saggot  looked  as  if  the  last  few  arrow- 
heads had  been  driven  into  his  legs  instead  of 
the  target's,  and  the  deep  stillness  was  broken  by 
a  little  snubby,  mottled,  half-grown  girl  saying  in 
a  shrill  voice  of  triumph, — "  Then  I've  won  !  " 

Mrs.  Beighton  did  her  best  to  bear  tip ;  but 
she  wept  in  the  presence  of  the  people.  No 
training  could  help  her  through  such  a  disap- 
pointment. Kitty  unstrung  her  bow  with  a 
vicious  jerk,  and  went  back  to  her  place,  while 
Barr-Saggott  was  trying  to  pretend  that  he  en- 
joyed snapping  the  bracelet  on  the  snubby  girl's 
raw,  red  wrist.  It  was  an  awkward  scene — 
most  awkward.  Every  one  tried  to  depart  in  a 
body  and  leave  Kitty  to  the  mercy  of  her 
Mama. 

But  Cubbon  took  her  away  instead,  and — the 
rest  isn't  worth  printing. 


THE  THREE   MUSKETEERS. 

An'  when  the  war  began,  we  chased  the  bold  Afghan, 
An'  we  made  the  bloomin'  Ghazi  for  to-  flee,  boys  O  ! 
An'  we  marched  into  Kabul,  and  we  tuk  the  Balar  'Issar, 
An'  we  taught  'em  to  respec'  the  British  Soldier. 

Barrack  Room  Ballad. 

MULVANEY,  Ortheris  and  Learoyd  are  Privates 
in  B  Company  of  a  Line  Regiment,  and  personal 
friends  of  mine.  Collectively  I  think,  but  am 
not  certain,  they  are  the  worst  men  in  the  regi- 
ment so  far  as  genial  blackguardism  goes. 

They  told  me  this  story,  the  other  day,  in  the 
Umballa  Refreshment  Room  while  we  were 
waiting  for  an  up-train.  I  supplied  the  beer. 
The  tale  was  cheap  at  a  gallon  and  a  half. 

Of  course  you  know  Lord  Benira  Trig.  He 
is  a  Duke,  or  an  Earl,  or  something  unofficial  ; 
also  a  Peer;  also  a  Globe-trotter!  On  all  three 
counts,  as  Ortheris  says,  "  'e  didn't  deserve  no 
consideration."  He  was  out  here  Jor  three 
months  collecting  materials  for  a  book  on  "  Our 
Eastern  Impedimenta,"  and  quartering  himself 
upon  everybody,  like  a  Cossack  in  evening-dress. 

His  particular  vice — because  he  was  a  Radical, 
I  suppose — was  having  garrisons  turned  out  for 
his  inspection.  He  would  then  dine  with  the 
Officer  Commanding,  and  insult  him,  across  the 
Mess  table,  about  the  appearance  of  the  troops. 
That  was  Benira's  way. 

He  turned  out  troops  once  too  often.  He 
came  to  Helanthami  Cantonment  on  a  Tuesday. 
He  wished  to  go  shopping  in  the  bazaars  on 
64 


The  Three  Musketeers.        65 

Wednesday,  and  he  "  desired  '  the  troops  to  be 
turned  out  on  a  Thursday.  On — a — Thursday  ! 
The  Officer  Commanding  could  not  well  refuse  ; 
for  Benira  was  a  Lord.  There  was  an  indigna- 
tion-meeting of  subalterns  in  the  Mess  Room,  to 
call  the  Colonel  pet  names. 

"  But  the  rale  dimonstrashin,"  said  Mulvaney, 
"  was  in  B  Comp'ny  barrick  ;  we  three  headin' 
it." 

Mulvaney  climbed  on  to  the  refreshment-bar, 
settled  himself  comfortably  by  the  beer,  and 
went  on  : — "  Whin  the  row  was  at  ut's  foinest 
an'  B  Comp'ny  was  fur  goin'  out  to  murther  this 
man  Thrigg  on  the  p'rade-groun',  Learoyd  here 
takes  up  his  helmut  an'  sez — fwhat  was  ut  ye 
said  ?  " 

"Ah  said,'1  said  Learoyd.  "gie  us  t*  brass. 
Tak  oop  a  subscripshun,  lads,  for  to  put  off  t' 
p'rade,  an'  if  t'  p'rade's  not  put  off,  ah'll  gie  t' 
brass  back  agean.  Thot's  wot  ah  said.  All  B 
Coomp'ny  knawed  me.  Ah  took  oop  a  big  sub- 
scripshun— fower  rupees  eight  annas  'twas — an* 
ah  went  oot  to  turn  t'  job  over.  Mulvaney  an' 
Orth'ris  coom  with  me.1' 

••  We  three  raises  the  Divil  in  couples  gin'r- 
ally,"  explained  Mulvaney. 

Here  Otheris  interrupted.  "  'Ave  you  read 
the  papers  ?  "  said  he. 

"Sometimes,"  I  said. 

"  We  'ad  read  the  papers,  an*  we  put  hup  a 
faked  decoity,  a — a  sedukshun." 

"  ,4/klukshin,  ye  cockney,"  said  Mulvaney. 

"  ^4^dukshun  or  .sedukshun — no  great  odds. 
Any'ow,  we  arrange  to  taik  an'  put  Mister  Ben- 
hira  out  o'  the  way  till  Thursday  was  hover,  or 
'e  too  busy  to  rux  'isselt  about  p'raids.  Hi  was 

7 


I 

66     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

the  man  wot  said  :  '  We'll  make  a  few  rupees 
off  o'  the  business.'  " 

"We  hild  a  Council  av  War,"  continued  Mul- 
vaney  "  walkin' roun'  by  the  Artill'ry  Lines.  I 
was  Prisidint,  Learoyd  was  Minister  av  Finance1 
an'  little  Orth'ris  here  was " 

'  A  bloomin'  Bismarck  !  Hi  made  the  'ole 
show  pay."  "  This  interferin'  bit  av  a  Benira 
man,'  said  Mulvaney,  "did  the  thrick  for  us 
himself;  for,  on  me  sowl,  we  hadn't  a  notion  av 
what  was  to  come  afther  the  next  minut.  He 
was  shoppin'  in  the  bazar  on  fut.  'Twas 
dhrawin'  dusk  thin,  an'  we  stud  watchin'  the 
little  man  hoppin'  in  an'  out  av  the  shops,  thryin' 
to  injuce  the  naygurs  to  mallum  his  bat.  Pris- 
intly,  he  sthrols  up,  his  arrums  full  av  thruck, 
an*  he  sez  in  a  consiquinshal  way,  shticking  out 
his  little  belly  : — '  Me  good  men,'  sez  he,  'have 
ye  seen  the  Kernel's  b'roosh  ?  '  '  B'roosh  ? ' 
says  Learoyd.  '  There's  no  b'roosh  here — nob- 
but  a  hekka.'  '  Fwhat's  that  ? '  sez  Thrigg 
Learoyd  shows  him  wan  down  the  sthreet,  an" 
he  sez  : — •  How  thruly  Orientil  !  I  will  ride  on 
a  hekka.'  I  saw  thin  that  our  Rigimintal  Saint 
was  for  givin'  Thrigg  over  to  us  neck  an'  brisket. 
I  purshued  a  hekka,  an'  I  sez  to  the  dhriver- 
divil,  I  sez — 'Ye  black  limb,  there's  a  Sahib 
comin'  for  this  hekka.  He  wants  to  go  jildi  to 
the  Padsahi  Jhil ' — 'twas  about  tu  moiles  away, 
— to  shoot  snipe — chirria.  «  You  dhrive  Jehan- 
num  ke  marfik,  mallutn  f  'Tis  no  manner  av 
faider  bukkiri  to  the  Sahib,  bekaze  he  doesn't 
samjao  your  bat.  Av  he  bolos  anything,  just 
you  choop  and  chel.  Dekker  ?  Go  arsty  for 
the  first  arder-m\\e.  from  cantonmints.  Then 
chel,  Shaitan  ke  marfik,  an'  the  chooper  you 


The  Three  Musketeers.        67 

choops  an'  ihejilder  you  chels  the  better  kooshy 
will  that  Sahib  be  ;  an'  here's  a  rupee  for  ye.1 

"  The  hekka-ma.n  knew  there  was  somethin1 
out  av  the  common  in  the  air.  He  grinned  and 
sez  : — '  Bote  achee !  I  goin'  damn  fast.'  I 
prayed  that  the  Kernel's  b'roosh  wudn't  arrive 
till  me  darlin'  Benira  by  the  grace  av  God  was 
undher  weigh.  The  little  man  puts  his  thruck 
into  the  hekka  an'  scuttles  in  like  a  fat  guinea- 
pig  ;  niver  offerin'  us  the  price  of  a  dhrink  for 
our  services  in  helpin'  him  home.  •  He's  off  to 
the  Padsahi /A//,'  sez  I  to  the  others." 

Ortheris  took  up  the  tale  : — 

"  Jist  then,  little  Buldoo  kim  up,  'oo  was  the 
son  of  one  of  the  Artillery  Raises — 'e  would  'av 
made  a  'evinly  newspaper-boy  in  London,  bein' 
sharp  and  fly  to  all  manner  o' games.  'E  'ad  bin 
watchin'  us  puttin'  Mister  Benhira  into  's  tem- 
porary baroush,  an' "e  sez: — 'What  'ave  you 
been  a  doin*  of,  Sahib  ? '  sez  'e.  Learoyd  'e 
caught  'im  by  the  ear  an'  'e  sez — " 

"  Ah  says,"  went  on  Learoyd  :  "  '  Young  mon, 
that  mon's  gooin'  to  have't  goons  out  o'  Thurs- 
day— kul — an'  thot's  more  work  for  you,  young 
mon.  Now,  sitha,  tak  a  tat  an'  a  lookri,  an'  ride 
tha  domdest  to  t'  Padsahi  Jhil.  Cotch  thot  there 
hekka,  and  tell  t'  driver  iv  your  lingo  thot  you've 
coom  to  tak'  his  place.  T'  Sahib  doesn't  speak 
t'  bat,  an'  he's  a  little  mon.  Drive  t'  hekka  into 
t'  Padsahi  Jhil  into  t'  waiter.  Leave  t'  Sahib 
theer  an'  roon  hoam  ;  an  here's  a  rupee  for  tha." 

Then  Mulvaney  and  Ortheris  spoke  together 
in  alternate  fragments  :  Mulvaney  leading  [You 
must  pick  out  the  two  speakers  as  best  you  can.] 
"  He  was  a  knowin'  little  divil  was  Bhuldoo, — 
'e  sez  bote  achee  an'  cuts — wid  a  wink  in  his  oi— 


68     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

but  Hi  sez  there's  money  to  be  made — an'  1 
want  to  see  the  end  av  the  campaign — so  Hi 
says  we'll  double  hout  to  the  Padsahi  Jhil — and 
save  the  little  man  from  bein'  dacoited  by  the 
murtherin'  Bhuldoo — an'  turn  hup  like  reskoors 
in  a  Ryle  Victoria  Theayter  Melodrama — so  we 
doubled  for  they////,  an"  prisintly  there  was  the 
divil  of  a  hurroosh  behind  us  an'  three  bhoys  on 
grasscuts'  tats  come  by,  pounding  along  for  the 
dear  life — s'elp  me  Bob,  hif  Buldoo  'acln't  raised 
a  regular  harmy  of  decoits — to  do  the  job  in 
shtile.  An'  we  ran,  an'  they  ran,  shplittin'  with 
laughin',  till  we  gets  near  the  jhil — and  'ears 
sounds  of  distress  floatin*  molloncally  on  the 
heavenin' hair."  [Ortheris  was  growing  poetical 
under  the  influence  of  the  beer.  The  duet  re- 
commenced ;  Mulvaney  leading  again.] 

"  Thin  we  heard  Bhuldoo,  the  dacoit,  shoutin* 
to  the  hekka  man,  an'  wan  of  the  young  divils 
brought  his  lakri  down  on  the  top  avthe  Iiekka- 
cover,  an'  Benira  Thrigg  inside  howled  '  Murther 
an'  Death.'  Buldoo  takes  the  reins  and  dhrives 
like  mad  forthey/zz'/,  havin'dishpersed  the  hekka- 
dhriver — 'oo  cum  up  to  us  an'  'e  sez,  sezie  : — 
•That  Sahib's  nigh  gawbry  with  funk  !  Wot 
devil's  work  'ave  you  led  me  into  ? '  '  Hall  right,' 
sez  we,  '  you  puckrow  that  there  pony  an'  come 
along.  This  Sahib's  been  decoited,  an'  we're 
going  to  resky  'im  !  '  Says  the  driver  :  «  Decoits! 
Wot  decoits  ?  That's  Buldoo  the  budmash.' — 
•  Bhuldoo  be  shot ! '  sez  we.  •  'Tis  a  woilcl  disso- 
lute Pathan  frum  the  hills.  There's  about  eight 
av  'im  coercin'  the  Sahib.  You  remimber  that 
an'  you'll  get  another  rupee'  !  Then  we  heard 
the  whop-w  hop-whop  av  the  hekka  turnin*  over, 
an'  a  splash  av  water  an'  the  voice  av  Benira 


The  Three  Musketeers         69 

Thrigg  call  in*  upon  God  to  forgive  his  sins — an' 
Buldoo  an'  'is  iriends  squotterin'  in  the  water 
like  boys  in  the  Serpentine." 

Here  the  Three  Musketeers  retired  simultane' 
ously  into  the  beer. 

"  Well  ?     What  came  next  ?  "    said  I. 

"  Fwhat  nex'  ?  "  answered  Mulvaney,  wiping 
his  mouth.  "  Wud  you  let  three  bould  sodger 
bhoys  lave  the  ornamint  av  the  House  of  Lords 
to  be  dhrowned  an'  dacoited  in  a.jhilf  We 
formed  line  avquarther-column  an'  we  desinded 
upon  the  inimy.  For  the  better  part  av  tin  min- 
utes you  could  not  hear  yerself  spake.  The  tattoo 
was  screamin*  in  chune  wid  Benira  Thrigg  an' 
Bhuldoo's  army,  an*  the  shticks  was  whistlin 
roun'  the  hekka,  an'  Orth'ris  was  beatin*  the 
hekfca-cavf.r  wid  his  fistes,  an'  Learoyd  yellin*: — 
•  Look  out  for  their  knives  !  '  an'  me  cuttin'  into 
the  dark,  right  an'  lef,  dishpersin'  arrmy  corps 
av  Pathar.s.  Holy  Mother  av  Moses  !  'twas  more 
disp'rit  than  Ahmid  Kheyl  wid  Maiwund  thrown 
in.  Afther  a  while  Bhuldoo  an'  his  bhoys  flees. 
Have  ye  iver  seen  a  rale  live  Lord  thryin'  to  hide 
his  nobility  undher  a  fut  an*  a  half  av  brown  j/n'l 
wather  ?  'Tis  the  livin' image  av  a  bhistts  mus- 
sick  with  the  shivers.  It  tuk  toime  to  pershuade 
me  frind  Benira  he  was  not  disimbowilled  ;  an' 
more  toime  to  get  out  the  hekka.  The  dhriver 
come  upaftherthe  battle,  swearin' he  tuk  a  hand 
in  repulsin'  the  inimy.  Benira  was  sick  wid  the 
fear.  We  escorted  him  back,  very  slow,  to  can- 
tonmints,  for  that  an'  the  chill  to  soak  into  him. 
//  suk  !  Glory  be  to  the  Rigimintil  Saint,  but  it 
suk  to  the  marrow  av  Lord  Benira  Thrigg  !  " 

Here  Ortheris,  slowly,  with  immense  pride  ; 


70     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

. — " 'E  sez: — 'You  bar  my  noble  preservers,' 
sez  'e.  '  You  bar  a  tionor  to  the  British  Harmy,' 
sez  'e.  With  that  'e  describes  the  havvful  band  of 
decoits  wot  set  on  'im.  There  was  about  forty 
of  "em  an*  'e  was  hoverpowered  by  numbers, 
so  'e  was  ;  but  'e  never  lost  'is  presence  of  mind, 
so  'e  didn't.  'E  guv  the  hekka-Ariv&r  five  rupees 
for  'is  noble  hassistance,  an'  'e  said  'e  would  see 
to  us  after  'e  'ad  spoken  to  the  Kernul.  For  we 
was  a  honor  to  the  Regiment,  we  was." 

"  An*  we  three,"  said  Mulvaney,  with  a  ser- 
aphic smile,  "  have  dhrawn  the  par-ti-cu-lar  at- 
tinshin  av  Bobs  Bahadur  more  than  wanst.  But 
he's  a  rale  good  little  man  is  Bobs.  Go  on, 
Orth'ris,  me  son." 

"Then  we  leaves  'im  at  the  Kernul's  'ouse, 
werry  sick,  an'  we  cuts  over  to  B  Comp'ny  bar- 
rick  an'  we  sez  we  'ave  saved  Benira  from  a 
bloody  doom,  an'  the  chances  was  agin  there 
bein'  p'raid  on  Thursday.  About  ten  minutes 
later  come  three  envelicks,  one  for  each  of  us. 
S'elp  me  Bob,  if  the  old  bloke  'adn't  guv  us  a 
fiver  apiece — sixty-four  dibs  in  the  bazar  !  On 
Thursday  'e  was  in  'orspital  recoverin'  irom  's 
sanguinary  encounter  with  a  gang  of  Pathans, 
an'  B  Comp'ny  was  drinkin'  'emselves  inter  clink 
by  squads.  So  there  never  was  no  Thursday 
p'raid.  But  the  Kernul,  when  'e  'card  of  our 
galliant  conduct,  'e  sez  : — Hi  know  there's  been 
some  devilry  somewheres,'  sez  'e,  '  but  hi  can't 
bring  it  'ome  to  you  three.'  " 

"An*  my  privit  imprisshin  is,"  said  Mulvaney, 
getting  off  the  bar  and  turning  his  glass  upside 
down,  "  that,  av  they  had  known  they  wudn't 
have  brought  ut  home.  'Tis  rlyin*  in  the  face, 
firstly  av  Nature,  second,  av  the  Rig'lations,  an' 


The  Three  Musketeers         71 

third,  the  will  av  Terence  Mulvaney,  to  hold 
p'rades  av  Thursdays." 

"  Good,  ma  son  !  "  said  Learoyd  ;  "  but,  young 
mon,  what's  t'  notebook  lor  ?  " 

"  Let  be,"  said  Mulvaney  ;  "  this  time  next 
month  we're  in  the  Sherapis.  Tis  immortial 
fame  the  gentleman's  goin'  to  give  us.  But  kape 
it  dhark  till  we're  out  av  the  range  av  me  little 
frind  Bobs  Bahadur." 

And  I  have  obeyed  Mulvaney 's  order. 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE. 

Then  a  pile  of  heads  he  laid — 

Thirty  thousand  heaped  on  high- 
All  to  please  the  Kafir  maid, 
Where  the  Oxus  ripples  by. 

Grimly  spake  Atulla  Khan  : — 
"  Love  hath  made  this  thing  a  Man." 

Oatta's  Story. 

IF  you  go  straight  away  from  Levees  and 
Government  House  Lists,  past  Trades'  Balls — 
far  beyond  everything  and  everybody  you  ever 
knew  in  your  respectable  life — you  cross,  in  time, 
the  Borderline  where  the  last  drop  of  White 
blood  ends  and  the  full  tide  of  Black  sets  in.  It 
would  be  easier  to  talk  to  a  new  made  Duchess 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment  than  to  the  Border- 
line folk  without  violating  some  ol  their  conven- 
tions or  hurting  their  feelings.  The  Black  and 
the  White  mix  very  quaintly  in  their  ways. 
Sometimes  the  White  shows  in  spurts  of  fierce, 
childish  pride — which  is  Pride  of  Race  run 
crooked — and  sometimes  the  Black  in  still  fiercer 
abasement  and  humility,  halt-heathenish  customs 
and  strange,  unaccountable  impulses  to  crime. 
One  of  these  days,  this  people — understand  they 
are  far  lower  than  the  class  whence  Derozio,  the 
man  who  imitated  Byron,  sprung — will  turn  out 
a  writer  or  a  poet  ;  and  then  we  shall  know  how 
they  live  and  what  they  feel.  In  the  meantime, 
any  stories  about  them  cannot  be  absolutely  cor- 
rect in  fact  or  inference. 

Miss  Vezzis  came  from  across  the  Borderline 
to  look  after  some  children  who  belonged  to  a 
lady  until  a  regularly  ordained  nurse  could  come 
72 


His  Chance  in  Life  73 

out.  The  lady  said  Miss  Vezzis  was  a  ba  ,  dirty 
nurse  and  inattentive.  It  never  struck  her  that 
Miss  Vezzis  had  her  own  life  to  lead  and  her 
own  affairs  to  worry  over,  and  that  these  affairs 
were  the  most  important  things  in  the  world  to 
Miss  Vezzis.  Very  few  mistresses  admit  this 
sort  of  reasoning.  Miss  Vezzis  was  as  black  as 
a  boot  and,  to  our  standard  of  taste,  hideously 
ugly.  She  wore  cotton-print  gowns  and  bulged 
shoes  ;  and  when  she  lost  her  temper  with  the 
children,  she  abused  them  in  the  language  of  'the 
Borderline — which  is  part  English,  part  Portu- 
guese, and  part  Native.  She  was  not  attractive  ; 
but  she  had  her  pride,  and  she  preferred  being 
called  "  Miss  Vezzis." 

Every  Sunday,  she  dressed  herself  wonderfully 
and  went  to  see  her  Mama,  who  lived,  for  the 
most  part,  on  an  old  cane  chair  in  a  greasy 
tussur-s\\k  dressing-gown  and  a  big  rabbit-war- 
ren of  a  house  full  ofVezzises,  Pereiras,  Ribieras, 
Lisboas  and  Gonsalveses,  and  a  floating  popula- 
tion of  loafers  ;  besides  fragments  of  the  day's 
bazar,  garlic,  stale  incense,  clothes  thrown  on 
the  floor,  petticoats  hung  on  strings  for  screens, 
old  bottles,  pewter  crucifixes,  dried  immortelles, 
pariah  puppies,  plaster  images  of  the  Virgin, 
and  hats  without  crowns.  Miss  Vezzis  drew 
twenty  rupees  a  month  for  acting  as  nurse,  and 
she  squabbled  weekly  with  her  Mama  as  to  the 
percentage  to  be  given  towards  housekeeping. 
When  the  quarrel  was  over,  Michele  D'Cruze 
used  to  shamble  across  the  low  mud  wall  of  the 
compound  and  make  love  to  Miss  Vezzis  after  the 
fashion  of  the  Borderline,  which  is  hedged  about 
with  much  ceremony.  Michele  was  a  poor, 
sickly  weed  and  very  black  ;  but  he  had  his 


74     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

pride.  He  would  not  he  seen  smoking  a  huq& 
for  anything  ;  and  he  looked  down  on  natives  as 
only  a  man  with  seven-eighths  native  blood  in 
his  veins  can.  The  Vezzis  Family  had  their 
pride  too.  They  traced  their  descent  from  a 
mythical  plate-layer  who  had  worked  on  the  Sone 
Bridge  when  railways  were  new  in  India,  and 
they  valued  their  English  origin.  Michele  was  a 
Telegraph  Signaler  on  Rs.  35  a  month.  The  fact 
that  he  was  in  Government  employ  made  Mrs. 
Vezzis  lenient  to  the  shortcomings  of  his  ancestors. 

There  was  a  compromising  legend — Dom 
Anna  the  tailor  brought  it  from  Poonani — that 
a  black  Jew  of  Cochin  had  once  married  into 
the  D'Cruze  family  ;  while  it  was  an  open  secret 
that  an  uncle  of  Mrs.  D'Cruze  was,  at  that  very 
time,  doing  menial  work,  connected  with  cook- 
ing for  a  Club  in  Southern  India  !  He  sent  Mrs. 
D'Cruze  seven  rupees  eight  annas  a  month  ;  but 
she  felt  the  disgrace  to  the  family  very  keenly  all 
the  same. 

However,  in  the  course  of  a  few  Sundays,  Mrs. 
Vezzis  brought  herself  to  overlook  these  blem- 
ishes and  gave  her  consent  to  the  marriage  of 
her  daughter  with  Michele,  on  condition  that 
Michele  should  have  at  least  fifty  rupees  a  month 
to  start  married  life  upon.  This  wonderful  pru- 
dence must  have  been  a  lingering  touch  of 
the  mythical  plate-layer's  Yorkshire  blood  ;  for 
across  the  Borderline  people  take  a  pride  in 
marrying  when  they  please — not  when  they  can. 

Having  regard  to  his  departmental  prospects, 
Miss  Vezzis  might  as  well  have  asked  Michele  to 
go  away  and  come  back  with  the  Moon  in  his 
pocket.  But  Michele  was  deeply  in  love  with' 
Miss  Vezzis,  and  that  helped  him  to  endure.  Ha 


His  Chance  in  Life  75 

accompanied  Miss  Vezzis  to  Mass  one  Sunday, 
and  after  Mass,  walking  home  through  the  hot 
stale  dust  with  her  hand  in  his,  he  swore  by  sev- 
eral Saints  whose  names  would  not  interest  you, 
never  to  forget  Miss  Vezzis  ;  and  she  swore  by 
her  Honor  and  the  Saints — the  oath  runs  rather 
curiously  ;  "  In  nomine  Sanctissimce — "  (what- 
ever the  name  of  the  she-Saint  is)  and  so  forth, 
ending  with  a  kiss  on  the  forehead,  a  kiss  on  the 
left  cheek,  and  a  kiss  on  the  mouth — never  to 
forget  Michele. 

Next  week  Michele  was  transferred,  and  Miss 
Vezzis  dropped  tears  upon  the  window-sash  of 
the  "Intermediate"  compartment  as  he  left  the 
Station. 

If  you  look  at  the  telegraph-map  of  India  you 
will  see  a  long  line  skirting  the  coast  from  Back- 
ergunge  to  Madras.  Michele  was  ordered  to 
Tibasu,  a  little  Sub-office  one-third  down  this 
line,  to  send  messages  on  from  Berhampur  to 
Chicacola,  and  to  think  of  Miss  Vezzis  and  his 
chances  of  getting  fifty  rupees  a  month  out  of 
office-hours.  He  had  the  noise  of  the  Bay  of 
Bengal  and  a  Bengali  Babu  lor  company  ; 
nothing  more.  He  sent  foolish  letters,  with 
crosses  tucked  inside  the  flaps  of  the  envelopes, 
to  Miss  Vezzis. 

When  he  had  been  at  Tibasu  for  nearly  three 
weeks  his  chance  came. 

Never  forget  that  unless  the  outward  and  visi- 
ble signs  of  Our  Authority  are  always  before  a 
native  he  is  as  incapable  as  a  child  of  understand- 
ing what  authority  means,  or  where  is  the  dan- 
ger of  disobeying  it.  Tibasu  was  a  forgotten 
little  place  with  a  few  Orissa  Mahomedans  in  it. 
These,  hearing  nothing  of  the  Collector-5rt///V 


76     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

for  some  time  and  heartily  despising  the  Hindu 
Sub-Judge,  arranged  to  start  a  little  Mohurrum 
riot  of  their  own.  But  the  Hindus  turned  out 
and  broke  their  heads  ;  when,  finding  lawless- 
ness pleasant,  Hindus  and  Mahomedans  togeth- 
er raised  an  aimless  sort  ot  Donnybrook  just  to 
see  how  far  they  could  go.  They  looted  each 
others'  shops,  and  paid  offprivate  grudges  in  the 
regular  way.  It  was  a  nasty  little  riot,  but  not 
worth  putting  in  the  newspapers. 

Michele  was  working  in  his  office  when  he 
heard  the  sound  that  a  man  never  forgets  all 
his  life — the  "  ah-yah  "  of  an  angry  crowd. 
[When  that  sound  drops  about  three  tones,  and 
changes  to  a  thick,  droning  ut,  the  man  who 
hears  it  had  better  go  away  if  he  is  alone.]  The 
Native  Police  Inspector  ran  in  and  told  Michele 
that  the  town  was  in  an  uproar  and  coming  to 
wreck  the  Telegraph  Office.  The  Babu  put  on 
his  cap  and  quietly  dropped  out  of  the  window  ; 
while  the  Police  Inspector,  afraid,  but  obeying 
the  old  race-instinct  which  recognizes  a  drop  ot 
White  blood  as  far  as  it  can  be  diluted,  said  : — 
"  What  orders  does  the  Sahib  give  ?  " 

The  "Sahib"  decided  Michele.  Though 
horribly  frightened,  he  felt  that,  tor  the  hour, 
he,  the  man  with  the  Cochin  Jew  and  the  menial 
uncle  in  his  pedigree,  was  the  only  representa- 
tive of  English  authority  in  the  place.  Then  he 
thought  of  Miss  Vezzis  and  the  hfty  rupees,  and 
took  the  situation  on  himself.  There  were 
seven  native  policemen  in  Tibasu,  and  four  crazy 
smooth-bore  muskets  among  them.  All  the  men 
were  gray  with  fear,  but  "not  beyond  leading. 
Michele  dropped  the  key  of  the  telegraph  instru- 
ment, and  went  out,  at  the  head  of  his  army,  to 


His  Chance  in  Life  77 

meet  the  mob.  As  the  shouting  crew  came 
round  a  corner  of  the  road,  he  dropped  and 
fired  ;  the  men  behind  him  loosing  instinctively 
at  the  same  time, 

The  whole  crowd — curs  to  the  back-bone — 
yelled  and  ran  ;  leaving  one  man  dead,  and 
another  dying  in  the  road.  Michele  was  sweat- 
ing with  tear  ;  but  he  kept  his  weakness  under, 
and  went  down  into  the  town,  past  the  house 
where  the  Sub-Judge  had  barricaded  himself. 
The  streets  were  empty.  Tibasu  was  more 
frightened  than  Michele,  for  the  mob  had  been 
taken  at  the  right  time. 

Michele  returned  to  the  Telegraph-Office,  and 
sent  a  message  to  Chicacola  asking  for  help. 
Before  an  answer  came,  he  received  a  deputa- 
tion ot  the  elders  of  Tibasu,  telling  him  that  the 
Sub-Judge  said  his  actions  generally  were  "  un- 
constitutional," and  trying  to  bully  him.  But 
the  heart  of  Michele  D'Cruze  was  big  and  white 
in  his  breast,  because  of  his  love  for  Miss  Vezzis, 
the  nurse-girl,  and  because  he  had  tasted  for  the 
first  time  Responsibility  and  Success.  Those 
two  make  an  intoxicating  drink,  and  have  ruined 
more  men  than  ever  has  Whisky.  Michele  an- 
swered that  the  Sub-Judge  might  say  what  he 
pleased,  but,  until  the  Assistant  Collector  came, 
the  Telegraph  Signaler  was  the  Government  of 
India  in  Tibasu,  and  the  elders  of  the  town  would 
be  held  accountable  for  further  rioting.  Then 
they  bowed  their  heads  and  said : — "  Show 
mercy  !  "  or  words  to  that  effect,  and  went  back 
in  great  fear;  each  accusing  the  other  of  having 
begun  the  rioting. 

Early  in  the  dawn,  after  a  night's  patrol  with 
his  seven  policemen,  Michele  went  down  the 


78     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

road,  musket  in  hand,  to  meet  the  Assistant  Col- 
lector who  had  ridden  in  to  queli  Tibasu.  But, 
in  the  presence  of  this  young  Englishman, 
Michele  felt  himself  slipping  back  more  and  more 
into  the  native,  and  the  tale  of  the  Tibasu  Riots 
ended,  with  the  strain  on  the  teller,  in  an  hys- 
terical outburst  of  tears,  bred  by  sorrow  that  he 
had  killed  a  man,  shame  that  he  could  not  feel 
as  uplifted  as  he  had  felt  through  the  night,  and 
childish  anger  that  his  tongue  could  not  do 
justice  to  his  great  deeds.  It  was  the  White 
drop  in  Michele's  veins  dying  out,  though  he 
did  not  know  it. 

But  the  Englishman  understood  ;  and,  after 
he  had  schooled  those  men  of  Tibasu,  and  had 
conferred  with  the  Sub-Judge  till  that  excellent 
official  turned  green,  he  found  time  to  draught 
an  official  letter  describing  the  conduct  of 
Michele.  Which  letter  filtered  through  the 
Proper  Channels,  and  ended  in  the  transfer  of 
Michele  up-country  once  more,  on  the  Imperial 
salary  of  sixty-six  rupees  a  month. 

So  he  and  Miss  Vezzis  were  married  with 
great  state  and  ancientry  ;  and  now  there  are 
several  little  D'Cruzes  sprawling  about  the  ver- 
andas of  the  Central  Telegraph  Office. 

But,  if  the  whole  revenue  of  the  Department 
he  serves  were  to  be  his  reward,  Michele  could 
never,  never  repeat  what  he  did  at  Tibasu  for 
the  sake  of  Miss  Vezzis  the  nurse-girl. 

Which  proves  that,  when  a  man  does  good 
work  out  of  all  proportion  to  his  pay,  in  seven 
cases  out  of  nine  there  is  a  woman  at  the  back 
of  the  virtue. 

The  two  exceptions  must  have  suffered  from 
sun  stroke. 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT. 

What  is  in  the  Brahmin's  books  that  is  in  the  Brahmin's  heart 
Neither  you  nor  I  knew  there  was  so  much  evil  in  the  world. 

Hindu  Proverb. 

THIS  began  in  a  practical  joke  ;  but  it  has 
gone  far  enough  now,  and  is  getting  serious. 

Platte,  the  Subaltern,  being  poor,  had  a  Water- 
bury  watch  and  a  plain  leather  guard. 

The  Colonel  had  a  Waterbury  watch  also,  and 
tor  guard,  the  lip-strap  of  a  curb-chain.  Lip- 
straps  make  the  best  watch  guards.  They  are 
strong  and  short.  Between  a  lip-strap  and  an 
ordinary  leather  guard  there  is  no  great  differ- 
ence ;  between  one  Waterbury  watch  and 
another  none  at  all.  Everyone  in  the  station 
knew  the  Colonel's  lip-strap.  He  was  not  a 
horsey  man,  but  he  liked  people  to  believe  he 
had  been  one  once  ;  and  he  wove  fantastic  stories 
of  the  hunting-bridle  to  which  this  particular  lip- 
strap  had  belonged.  Otherwise  he  was  pain- 
fully religious. 

Platte  and  the  Colonel  were  dressing  at  the 
Club — both  late  for  their  engagements,  and  both 
in  a  hurry.  That  was  Kismet.  The  two  watches 
were  on  a  shelf  below  the  looking-glass — guards 
hanging  down.  That  was  carelessness.  Platte 
changed  first,  snatched  a  watch,  looked  in  the 
glass,  settled  his  tie,  and  ran.  Forty  seconds 
later,  the  Colonel  did  exactly  the  same  thing, 
each  man  taking  the  other's  watch. 

You    may    have  noticed   that    many  religious 

79 


So     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

people  are  deeply  suspicious.  They  seem — foi 
purely  religious  purposes,  of  course — to  know 
more  about  iniquity  than  the  Unregenerate. 
Perhaps  they  were  specially  bad  before  they  be- 
came converted  !  At  any  rate,  in  the  imputa- 
tion of  things  evil,  and  in  putting  the  worst,  con- 
struction on  things  innocent,  a  certain  type  of 
good  people  may  be  trusted  to  surpass  all  others. 
The  Colonel  and  his  Wife  were  of  that  type. 
But  the  Colonel's  Wife  was  the  worst.  She  man- 
ufactured the  Station  scandal,  and — talked  to  her 
ayah  !  Nothing  more  need  be  said.  The  Col- 
onel's Wife  broke  up  the  Laplace's  home.  The 
Colonel's  Wife  stopped  the  Ferris-Haughtrey 
engagement.  The  Colonel's  Wife  induced  young 
Buxton  to  keep  his  wite  down  in  the  Plains 
through  the  first  year  of  the  marriage.  Whereby 
little  Mrs.  Buxton  died,  and  the  baby  with  her. 
These  things  will  be  remembered  against  the 
Colonel's  Wife  so  long  as  there  is  a  regiment  in 
the  country. 

But  to  come  back  to  the  Colonel  and  Platte. 
They  went  their  several  ways  from  the  dressing- 
room.  The  Colonel  dined  with  two  Chaplains, 
while  Platte  went  to  a  bachelor-party,  and  whist 
to  follow. 

Mark  how  things  happen  !  If  Platte's  sais 
had  put  the  new  saddle-pad  on  the  mare,  the 
butts  of  the  territs  would  not  have  worked  through 
the  worn  leather  and  the  old  pad  into  the  mare's 
withers,  when  she  was  coming  home  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  She  would  not  have 
reared,  bolted,  fallen  into  a  ditch,  upset  the  cart, 
and  sent  Platte  flying  over  an  aloe-hedge  on  to 
Mrs.  Larkyn's  well-kept  lawn  ;  and  this  tale 
would  never  have  been  written.  But  the  mare 


Watches  of  the  Night         81 

did  all  these  things,  and  while  Platte  was  rolling 
over  and  over  on  the  turf,  like  a  shot  rabbit,  the 
watch  and  guard  flew  from  his  waistcoat — as  an 
Infantry  Major's  sword  hops  out  of  the  scabbard 
when  they  are  firing  afeu  de  joie — and  rolled 
and  rolled  in  the  moonlight,  till  it  stopped  under 
a  window. 

Platte  stufted  his  handkerchief  under  the  pad, 
put  the  cart  straight,  and  went  home. 

Mark  again  how  Kismet  works  !  This  would 
not  happen  once  in  a  hundred  years.  Towards 
the  end  of  his  dinner  with  the  two  Chaplains,  the 
Colonel  let  out  his  waistcoat  and  leaned  over  the 
table  to  look  at  some  Mission  Reports.  The  bar 
of  the  watch-guard  worked  through  the  button- 
hole,  and  the  watch — Platte's  watch — slid  quietly 
on  to  the  carpet.  Where  the  bearer  found  it 
next  morning  and  kept  it. 

Then  the  Colonel  went  home  to  the  wife  of 
his  bosom  ;  but  the  driver  of  the  carriage  was 
drunk  and  lost  his  way.  So  the  Colonel  returned 
at  an  unseemly  hour  and  his  excuses  were  not 
accepted.  If  the  Colonel's  Wife  had  been  an 
ordinary  "  vessel  of  wrath  appointed  for  destruc- 
tion," she  would  have  known  that  when  a  man 
stays  away  on  purpose,  his  excuse  is  always 
sound  and  original.  The  very  baldness  of  the 
Colonel's  explanation  proved  its  truth. 

See  once  more  the  workings  of  Kismet !  The 
Colonel's  watch  which  came  with  Platte  hur- 
riedly on  to  Mrs.  Larkyn's  lawn,  chose  to  stop 
just  under  Mrs.  Larkyn's  window,  where  she  saw 
it  early  in  the  morning,  recognized  it,  and  picked 
it  up.  She  had  heard  the  crash  of  Platte's  cart 
at  two  o'clock  that  morning,  and  his  voice  calling 
the  mare  names.  She  knew  Platte  and  liked 
6 


82     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

him.  That  day  she  showed  him  the  watch  and 
heard  his  story.  He  put  his  head  on  one  side, 
winked  and  said  : — "  How  disgusting  !  Shock- 
ing old  man  !  With  his  religious  training,  too  ! 
I  should  send  the  watch  to  the  Colonel's  Wife 
and  ask  for  explanations." 

Mrs.  Larkyn  thought  for  a  minute  of  the  La- 
places — whom  she  had  known  when  Laplace  and 
his  wife  believed  in  each  other — and  answered  : — 
"  I  will  send  it.  I  think  it  will  do  her  good. 
But,  remember,  we  must  never  tell  her  the 
truth." 

Platte  guessed  that  his  own  watch  was  in  the 
Colonel's  possession,  and  thought  that  the  return 
of  the  lip-strapped  Waterbury  with  a  soothing 
note  from  Mrs.  Larkyn,  would  merely  create  a 
small  trouble  for  a  few  minutes.  Mrs.  Larkyn 
knew  better.  She  knew  that  any  poison  dropped 
would  find  good  holding-ground  in  the  heart  o{ 
the  Colonel's  Wife. 

The  packet,  and  a  note  containing  a  few  re- 
marks on  the  Colonel's  calling  hours,  were  sent 
over  to  the  Colonel's  Wife,  who  wept  in  her  own 
room  and  took  counsel  with  herself. 

If  there  was  one  woman  under  Heaven  whom 
the  Colonel's  Wife  hated  with  holy  fervor,  it  was 
Mrs.  Larkyn.  Mrs.  Larkyn  was  a  frivolous  lady, 
and  called  the  Colonel's  Wife  "  old  cat."  The 
Colonel's  Wife  said  that  somebody  in  Revelations 
was  remarkably  like  Mrs.  Larkyn.  She  men- 
tioned other  Scripture  people  as  well.  From 
the  Old  Testament.  [But  the  Colonel's  Wife 
was  the  only  person  who  cared  or  dared  to  say 
anything  against  Mrs.  Larkyn.  Every  one  else 
accepted  her  as  an  amusing,  honest  little  body.] 
Wherefore,  to  believe  that  her  husband  had 


Watches  of  the  Night         83 

been  shedding  watches  under  that  "Thing's" 
window  at  ungodly  hours,  coupled  with  the  fact 
of  his  late  arrival  on  the  previous  night,  was.  .  . . 

At  this  point  she  rose  up  and  sought  her  hus- 
band. He  denied  everything  except  the  owner- 
ship of  the  watch.  She  besought  him,  for  his 
Soul's  sake  to  speak  the  truth.  He  denied 
afresh,  with  two  bad  words.  Then  a  stony 
silence  held  the  Colonel's  Wife,  while  a  man 
could  draw  his  breath  five  times. 

The  speech  that  followed  is  no  affair  of  mine 
or  yours.  It  was  made  up  of  wifely  and 
womanly  jealousy  ;  knowledge  of  old  age  and 
sunk  cheeks ;  deep  mistrust  born  of  the  text 
that  says  even  little  babies'  hearts  are  as  bad  as 
they  make  them  ;  rancorous  hatred  of  Mrs. 
Larkyn,  and  the  tenets  of  the  creed  of  the 
Colonel's  Wife's  upbringing. 

Over  and  above  all,  was  the  damning  lip- 
strapped  Waterbury,  ticking  away  in  the  palm 
of  her  shaking,  withered  hand.  At  that  hour,  I 
think,  the  Colonel's  Wife  realized  a  little  of  the 
restless  suspicion  she  had  injected  into  old  La- 
place's mind,  a  little  of  poor  Miss  Haughtrey's 
misery,  and  some  of  the  canker  that  ate  into 
Buxton's  heart  as  he  watched  his  wife  dying 
before  his  eyes.  The  Colonel  stammered  and 
tried  to  explain.  Then  he  remembered  that  his 
watch  had  disappeared  ;  and  the  mystery  grew 
greater.  The  Colonel's  Wife  talked  and  prayed 
by  turns  till  she  was  tired,  and  went  away  to 
devise  means  for  "  chastening  the  stubborn  heart 
of  her  husband."  Which,  translated,  means,  in 
our  slang,  "  tail-twisting." 

You  see,  being  deeply  impressed  with  the 
doctrine  of  Original  Sin,  she  could  not  believe 


84     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

in  the  face  of  appearances.  She  knew  too  much, 
and  jumped  to  the  wildest  conclusions. 

But  it  was  good  for  her.  It  spoilt  her  life,  as 
she  had  spoilt  the  life  of  the  Laplaces.  She  had 
lost  her  faith  in  the  Colonel,  and — here  the 
creed-suspicion  came  in — he  might,  she  argued, 
have  erred  many  times,  before  a  merciful  Provi- 
dence, at  the  hands  of  so  unworthy  an  instru- 
ment as  Mrs.  Larkyn,  had  established  his  guilt. 
He  was  a  bad,  wicked,  gray-haired  profligate. 
This  may  sound  too  sudden  a  revulsion  lor  a 
long-wedded  wife  ;  but  it  is  a  venerable  fact 
that,  if  a  man  or  woman  makes  a  practise  of, 
and  takes  a  delight  in,  believing  and  spreading 
evil  of  people  indifferent  to  him  or  ner,  he  or  she 
will  end  in  believing  evil  of  folk  very  near  and 
dear.  You  may  think,  also,  that  the  mere  inci- 
dent of  the  watch  was  too  small  and  trivial  to 
raise  this  misunderstanding.  It  is  another  aged 
fact  that,  in  life  as  well  as  racing,  all  the  worst 
accidents  happen  at  little  ditches  and  cut-down 
fences.  In  the  same  way,  you  sometimes  see  a 
woman  who  would  have  made  a  Joan  of  Arc  in 
another  century  and  climate,  threshing  herself 
to  pieces  over  all  the  mean  worry  of  housekeep- 
ing. But  that  is  another  story. 

Her  belief  only  made  the  Colonel's  Wife  more 
wretched,  because  it  insisted  so  strongly  on  the 
villainy  of  men.  Remembering  what  she  had 
clone,  it  was  pleasant  to  watch  her  unhappiness, 
and  the  penny-farthing  attempts  she  made  to 
hide  it  from  the  Station.  But  the  Station  knew 
and  laughed  heartlessly  ;  for  they  had  heard  the 
story  of  the  watch,  with  much  dramatic  gesture, 
from  Mrs.  Larkyn's  lips. 

Once  or  twice  Platte  said  to  Mrs.  Larkyn,  see- 


Watches  of  the  Night         85 

ing  that  the  Colonel  had  not  cleared  himself:— 
"  This  thing  has  gone  far  enough.  I  move  we 
tell  the  Colonel's  Wife  how  it  happened."  Mrs. 
Larkyn  shut  her  lips  and  shook  her  head,  and 
vowed  that  the  Colonel's  Wife  must  bear  her 
punishment  as  best  she  could.  Now  Mrs. 
Larkyn  was  a  frivolous  woman,  in  whom  none 
would  have  suspected  deep  hate.  So  Platte  took 
no  action,  and  came  to  believe  gradually,  from 
the  Colonel's  silence,  that  the  Colonel  must  have 
"  run  off  the  line  "  somewhere  that  night,  and, 
therefore,  preferred  to  stand  sentence  on  the 
lesser  count  of  rambling  into  other  people's  com- 
pounds out  of  calling-hours.  Platte  forgot  about 
the  watch  business  after  a  while,  and  moved 
down-country  with  his  regiment.  Mrs.  Larkyn 
went  home  when  her  husband's  tour  of  Indian 
service  expired.  She  never  forgot. 

But  Platte  was  quite  right  when  he  said  that 
the  joke  had  gone  too  far.  The  mistrust  and  the 
tragedy  of  it — which  we  outsiders  cannot  see 
and  do  not  believe  in — are  killing  the  Colonel's 
Wife,  and  are  making  the  Colonel  wretched.  If 
either  of  them  read  this  story,  they  can  depend 
upon  its  being  a  fairly  true  account  of  the  case, 
and  can,  "  kiss  and  make  friends." 

Shakespeare  alludes  to  the  pleasure  of  watch- 
ing an  Engineer  being  shelled  by  his  own  Battery. 
Now  this  shows  that  poets  should  not  write 
about  what  they  do  not  understand.  Anyone 
could  have  told  him  that  Sappers  and  Gunners 
are  perfectly  different  branches  of  the  Service, 
But,  if  you  correct  the  sentence,  and  substitute 
Gunner  for  Sapper,  the  moral  comes  just  the 
same. 


THE  OTHER  MAN. 

When  the  earth  was  sick  and  the  skies  were  gray, 

And  the  woods  were  rotted  with  rain, 
The  Dead  Man  rode  through  the  autumn  day 

"To  visit  his  love  again. 

Old  Ballad. 

FAR  back  in  the  "  seventies,"  before  they  had 
built  any  Public-Offices  at  Simla,  and  the  broad 
road  round  Jakko  lived  in  a  pigeon-hole  in  the 
P.  W.  D.  hovels,  her  parents  made  Miss  Gaurey 
marry  Colonel  Schriederling.  He  could  not 
have  been  much  more  than  thirty-five  years  her 
senior;  and,  as  he  lived  on  two  hundred  rupees 
a  month  and  had  money  of  his  own,  he  was  well 
off.  He  belonged  to  good  people,  and  suffered 
in  the  cold  weather  from  lung-complaints.  In 
the  hot  weather  he  dangled  on  the  brink  of  heat- 
apoplexy  ;  but  it  never  quite  killed  him. 

Understand,  I  do  not  blame  Schreiderling. 
He  was  a  good  husband  according  to  his  lights, 
and  his  temper  only  failed  him  when  he  was 
being  nursed.  Which  was  some  seventeen  days 
in  each  month.  He  was  almost  generous  to  his 
wife  about  money-matters,  and  that,  for  him,  was 
a  concession.  Still  Mrs.  Schreiderling  was  not 
happy.  They  married  her  when  she  was  this 
side  of  twenty  and  had  given  all  her  poor  little 
heart  to  another  man.  1  have  forgotten  his 
name,  but  we  will  call  him  the  Other  Man.  He 
had  no  money  and  no  prospects.  He  was  not 
even  good-looking  ;  and  I  think  he  was  in  the 
Commissariat  or  Transport.  But,  in  spite  of  all 
86 


The  Other  Man  87 

these  things,  she  loved  him  very  badly  ;  and 
there  was  some  sort  of  an  engagement  between 
the  two  when  Schreiderling  appeared  and  told 
Mrs.  Gaurey  that  he  wished  to  marry  her 
daughter.  Then  the  other  engagement  was 
broken  off — washed  away  by  Mrs.  Gaurey 's  tears, 
for  that  lady  governed  her  house  by  weeping 
over  disobedience  to  her  authority  and  the  lack 
of  reverence  she  received  in  her  old  age.  The 
daughter  did  not  take  after  her  mother.  She 
never  cried.  Not  even  at  the  wedding. 

The  Other  Man  bore  his  loss  quietly,  and  was 
transferred  to  as  bad  a  station  as  he  could  find. 
Perhaps  the  climate  consoled  him.  He  suffered 
from  intermittent  fever,  and  that  may  have  dis- 
tracted him  from  his  other  trouble.  He  was 
weak  about  the  heart  also.  Both  ways.  One 
of  the  valves  was  affected,  and  the  fever  made 
it  worse.  This  showed  itself  later  on. 

Then  many  months  passed,  and  Mrs.  Schrei- 
derling took  to  being  ill.  She  did  not  pine  away 
like  people  in  story  books,  but  she  seemed  to 
pick  up  every  form  of  illness  that  went  about  a 
station,  from  simple  fever  upwards.  She  was 
never  more  than  ordinarily  pretty  at  the  best  of 
times  ;  and  the  illness  made  her  ugly.  Schrei- 
derling said  so.  He  prided  himself  on  speaking 
his  mind. 

When  she  ceased  being  pretty,  he  left  her  to 
her  own  devices,  and  went  back  to  the  lairs  of 
his  bachelordom.  She  used  to  trot  up  and  down 
Simla  Mall  in  a  forlorn  sort  of  way,  with  a  gray 
Terai  hat  well  on  the  back  of  her  head,  and  a 
shocking  bad  saddle  under  her.  Schreiderling's 
generosity  stopped  at  the  horse.  He  said  that 
any  saddle  would  do  for  a  woman  as  nervous  ag 


88     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

Mrs.  Schreiderling.  She  never  was  asked  to 
dance,  because  she  did  not  dance  well  ;  and  she 
was  so  dull  and  uninteresting,  that  her  box  very 
seldom  had  any  cards  in  it.  Schreiderling  said 
that  if  he  had  known  that  she  was  going  to  be 
such  a  scarecrow  after  her  marriage,  he  would 
never  have  married  her.  He  always  prided  him- 
self on  speaking  his  mind,  did  Schreiderling  ! 

He  left  her  at  Simla  one  August,  and  went 
down  to  his  regiment.  Then  she  revived  a  little, 
but  she  never  recovered  her  looks.  I  found  out 
at  the  Club  that  the  Other  Man  is  coming  up 
sick — very  sick — on  an  off  chance  of  recovery. 
The  fever  and  the  heart-valves  had  nearly  killed 
him.  She  knew  that,  too,  and  she  knew — what 
I  had  no  interest  in  knowing — when  he  was  com- 
ing up.  I  suppose  he  wrote  to  tell  her.  They 
had  not  seen  each  other  since  a  month  before 
the  wedding.  And  here  comes  the  unpleasant 
part  of  the  story. 

A  late  call  kept  me  down  at  the  Dovedell  Hotel 
till  dusk  one  evening.  Mrs.  Schreiderling  had 
been  flitting  up  and  clown  the  Mall  all  the  after- 
noon in  the  rain.  Coming  up  along  the  Cart- 
road,  a  tonga  passed  me,  and  my  pony,  tired 
with  standing  so  long,  set  off  at  a  canter.  Just 
by  the  road  down  to  the  Tonga  Office  Mrs. 
Schreiderling,  dripping  from  head  to  foot,  was 
waiting  tor  the  tonga.  I  turned  up-hill,  as  the 
tonga  was  no  affair  of  mine  ;  and  just  then  she 
began  to  shriek.  I  went  back  at  once  and  saw, 
under  the  Tonga  Office  lamps,  Mrs.  Schreiderling 
kneeling  in  the  wet  road  by  the  back  seat  of  the 
newly-arrived  tonga,  screaming  hideously.  Then 
she  fell  face  clown  in  the  dirt  as  I  came  up. 

Sitting  in  the  back  seat,  very  square  and  firm, 


The  Other  Man  89 

with  one  hand  on  the  awning-stanchion  and  the 
wet  pouring  off  his  hat  and  mustache,  was  the 
Other  Man — dead.  The  sixty-mile  up-hill  jolt 
had  been  too  much  for  his  valve,  I  suppose, 
The  tonga-driver  said  :  "  This  Sahib  died  two 
stages  out  of  Solon.  Therefore,  I  tied  him  with 
a  rope,  lest  he  should  fall  out  by  the  way,  and  so 
came  to  Simla.  Will  the  Sahib  give  me  buk- 
shish  f  It"  pointing  to  the  Other  Man, «'  should 
have  given  one  rupee." 

The  Other  Man  sat  with  a  grin  on  his  face,  as 
if  he  enjoyed  the  joke  of  his  arrival  ;  and  Mrs. 
Schreiderling,  in  the  mud,  began  to  groan. 
There  was  no  one  except  us  four  in  the  office 
and  it  was  raining  heavily.  The  first  thing  was 
to  take  Mrs.  Schriederling  home,  and  the  second 
was  to  prevent  her  name  from  being  mixed  up 
with  the  affair.  The  tonga-driver  received  five 
rupees  to  find  a  bazar  'rickshaw  for  Mrs.  Schreid- 
erling. He  was  to  tell  the  Tonga  Babu  after- 
wards of  the  Other  Man,  and  the  Babu  was  to 
make  such  arrangements  as  seemed  best. 

Mrs.  Schreiderling  was  carried  into  the  shed 
out  of  the  rain,  and  lor  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
we  two  waited  for  the  'rickshaw.  The  Other 
Man  was  left  exactly  as  he  had  arrived.  Mrs. 
Schreiderling  would  do  everything  but  cry,  which 
might  have  helped  her.  She  tried  to  scream  as 
soon  as  her  senses  came  back,  and  then  she  be- 
gan praying  tor  the  Other  Man's  soul.  Had  she 
not  been  as  honest  as  the  day,  she  would  have 
prayed  for  her  own  soul  too.  I  waited  to  hear 
her  do  this,  but  she  did  not.  Then  I  tried  to  get 
some  of  the  mud  off  her  habit.  Lastly,  the  'rick- 
shaw came,  and  I  got  her  away — partly  by  force. 
It  was  a  terrible  business  from  beginning  to  end; 


90     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

but  most  of  all  when  the  'rickshaw  had  to  squeeze 
between  the  wall  and  the  tonga,  and  she  saw  by 
the  lamp-light  that  thin,  yellow  hand  grasping 
the  awning-stanchion. 

She  was  taken  home  just  as  everyone  was 
going  to  a  dance  at  Viceregal  Lodge — "  Peter- 
hoff  "  it  was  then — and  the  doctor  found  out  that 
she  had  fallen  from  her  horse,  that  I  had  picked 
her  up  at  the  back  of  Jakko,  and  really  deserved 
great  credit  for  the  prompt  manner  in  which  I  had 
secured  medical  aid.  She  did  not  die — men  of 
Schreiderling's  stamp  marry  women  who  don't 
die  easily.  They  live  and  grow  ugly. 

She  never  told  of  her  one  meeting,  since  her 
marriage,  with  the  Other  Man  ;  and,  when  the 
chill  and  cough  following  the  exposure  of  that 
evening,  allowed  her  abroad,  she  never  by  word 
or  sign  alluded  to  having  met  me  by  the  Tonga 
Office.  Perhaps  she  never  knew. 

She  used  to  trot  up  and  down  the  Mall,  on 
that  shocking  bad  saddle,  looking  as  if  she  ex- 
pected to  meet  some  one  round  the  corner  every 
minute.  Two  years  afterward,  she  went  Home, 
and  died — at  Bournemouth,  I  think. 

Schreiderling,  when  he  grew  maudlin  at.  Mess,. 
used  to  talk  about  "  my  poor  dear  wife."  He 
always  set  great  store  on  speaking  his  mind,  did 
Schreiderling ! 


CONSEQUENCES. 

Rosicrucian  subtleties 

In  the  Orient  had  rise ; 

Ye  may  find  their  teachers  still 

Under  Jacatala's  Hill. 

Seek  ye  Bombast  Paracelsus, 

Read  what  Flood  the  Seeker  tells  us 

Of  the  Dominant  that  runs 

Through  the  cycles  of  the  Suns — 

Read  my  story  last  and  see 

Luna  at  her  apogee. 

THERE  are  yearly  appointments,  and  two- 
yearly  appointments,  and  five-yearly  appoint- 
ments at  Simla,  and  there  are,  or  used  to  be, 
permanent  appointments,  whereon  you  stayed 
up  for  the  term  of  your  natural  life  and  secured 
red  cheeks  and  a  nice  income.  Of  course,  you 
could  descend  in  the  cold  weather  ;  for  Simla  is 
rather  dull  then. 

Tarrion  came  from  goodness  knows  where — 
all  away  and  away  in  some  forsaken  part  of 
Central  India,  where  they  call  Pachmari  a 
"  Sanitarium,"  and  drive  behind  trotting  bul- 
locks, I  believe.  He  belonged  to  a  regiment ; 
but  what  he  really  wanted  to  do  was  to  escape 
from  his  regiment  and  live  in  Simla  forever  and 
ever.  He  had  no  preference  for  anything  in  par- 
ticular, beyond  a  good  horse  and  a  nice  partner. 
He  thought  he  could  do  everything  well  ;  which 
is  a  beautiful  belief  when  you  hold  it  with  all 
your  heart.  He  was  clever  in  many  ways,  and 
good  to  look  at,  and  always  made  people  round 
him  comfortable — even  in  Central  India. 

So  he  went  up  to  Simla,  and,  because  he  was 


92     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

clever  and  amusing,  he  gravitated  naturally  to 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  who  could  forgive  everything 
but  stupidity.  Once  he  did  her  great  service  by 
changing  the  date  on  an  invitation-card  for  a 
big  dance  which  Mrs.  Hauksbee  wished  to  at- 
tend, but  couldn't  because  she  had  quarreled 
with  the  A.-D.-C,,  who  took  care,  being  a  mean 
man,  to  invite  her  to  a  small  dance  on  the  6th 
instead  of  the  big  Ball  of  the  26th.  It  was  a 
very  clever  piece  of  forgery  ;  and  when  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  showed  the  A.-D.-C.  her  invitation- 
card,  and  chaffed  him  mildly  for  not  better 
managing  his  vendettas,  he  really  thought  that 
he  had  made  a  mistake  ;  and — which  was  wise 
— realized  that  it  was  no  use  to  fight  with  Mrs. 
Hauksbee.  She  was  grateful  to  Tarrion  and 
asked  what  she  could  do  for  him.  He  said 
simply  :  "  I'm  a  Freelance  up  here  on  leave,  on 
the  look  out  for  what  I  can  loot.  I  haven't  a 
square  inch  of  interest  in  all  Simla.  My  name 
isn't  known  to  any  man  with  an  appointment  in 
his  gift,  and  I  want  an  appointment — a  good, 
sound,  pukka  one.  I  believe  you  can  do  any- 
thing you  turn  yourself  to.  Will  you  help  me  ? " 
MTS.  Hauksbee  thought  for  a  minute,  and  passed 
the  lash  of  her  riding-whip  through  her  lips,  as 
was  her  custom  when  thinking.  Then  her  eyes 
sparkled  and  she  said  :  "  I  will  ;  "  and  she  shook 
hands  on  it.  Tarrion,  having  perfect  confidence 
in  this  great  woman,  took  no  further  thought  of 
the  business  at  all.  Except  to  wonder  what  sort 
of  an  appointment  he  would  win. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  began  calculating  the  prices 
of  all  the  Heads  of  Departments  and  Members 
of  Council  she  knew,  and  the  more  she  thought 
the  more  she  laughed,  because  her  heart  was  in 


Consequences  93 

the  game  and  it  amused  her.  Then  she  took  a 
Civil  List  and  ran  over  a  few  of  the  appoint- 
ments. There  are  some  beautiful  appointments 
in  the  Civil  List.  Eventually,  she  decided  that, 
though  Tarrion  was  too  good  for  the  Political 
Department,  she  had  better  begin  by  trying  to 
get  him  in  there.  What  were  her  own  plans  to 
this  end,  does  not  matter  in  the  least,  for  Luck 
or  Fate  played  into  her  hands  and  she  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  watch  the  course  of  events  and 
take  the  credit  of  them. 

All  Viceroys,  when  they  first  come  out,  pass 
through  the  "  Diplomatic  Secrecy  "  craze.  It 
wears  off  in  time  ;  but  they  all  catch  it  in  the 
beginning,  because  they  are  new  to  the  country. 
The  particular  Viceroy  who  was  suffering  from 
the  complaint  just  then — this  was  a  long  time 
ago,  before  Lord  Dufferin  ever  came  from 
Canada,  or  Lord  Ripon  from  the  bosom  of  the 
English  Church — had  it  very  badly  ;  and  the 
result  was  that  men  who  were  new  to  keeping 
official  secrets  went  about  looking  unhappy  ; 
and  the  Viceroy  plumed  himself  on  the  way  in 
which  he  had  instilled  notions  of  reticence  into 
his  Staff. 

Now,  the  Supreme  Government  have  a  care- 
less custom  of  committing  what  they  do  to 
printed  papers.  These  papers  deal  with  all 
sorts  of  things — from  the  payment  of  Rs.  200  to 
a  "  secret  service  "  native,  up  to  rebukes  admin- 
istered  to  Vakils  and  Motamids  of  Native  States, 
and  rather  brusque  letters  to  Native  Princes, 
telling  them  to  put  their  houses  in  order,  to  re- 
frain from  kidnapping  women,  or  filling  offend- 
ers with  pounded  red  pepper,  and  eccentricities 
of  that  kind.  Of  course,  these  things  could 


94     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

never  be  made  public,  because  Native  Princes 
never  err  officially,  and  their  States,  are,  offi- 
cially as  well  administered  as  Our  territories. 
Also,  the  private  allowances  to  various  queei 
people  are  not  exactly  matters  to  put  into  new?- 
papers,  though  they  give  quaint  reading  some- 
times. When  the  Supreme  Government  is  ai 
Simla,  these  papers  are  prepared  there,  and  go 
round  to  the  people  who  ought  to  see  them  in 
office-boxes  or  by  post.  The  principle  of  se- 
crecy was  to  that  Viceroy  quite  as  important  as 
the  practise,  and  he  held  that  a  benevolent  des- 
potism like  Ours  should  never  allow  even  little 
things  such  as  appointments  of  subordinate 
clerks,  to  leak  out  till  the  proper  time.  He  was 
always  remarkable  for  his  principles. 

There  was  a  very  important  batch  of  papers 
in  preparation  at  that  time.  It  had  to  travel 
from  one  end  of  Simla  to  the  other  by  hand.  It 
was  not  put  into  an  official  envelope,  but  a  large, 
square,  pale-pink  one  ;  the  matter  being  in  MS. 
on  soft  crinkley  paper.  It  was  addressed  to 
"  The  Head  Clerk,  etc.,  etc."  Now,  between 
"  The  Head  Clerk,  etc.,  etc."  and  "  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee  "  and  a  flourish,  is  no  very  great  difference, 
if  the  address  be  written  in  a  very  bad  hand,  as 
this  was.  The  chaprassi  who  took  the  envelope 
was  not  more  of  an  idiot  than  most  chrapassis. 
He  merely  forgot  where  this  most  unofficial 
cover  was  to  be  delivered,  and  so  asked  the  first 
Englishman  he  met,  who  happened  to  be  a  man 
riding  clown  to  Annandale  in  a  great  hurry. 
The  Englishman  hardly  looked,  said  :  "  Hauksbee 
Sahib  ki  Mem,"  and  went  on.  So  did  the  chap- 
rassi, because  that  letter  was  the  last  in  stock 
and  he  wanted  to  get  his  work  over.  There  was 


Consequences  95 

no  book  to  sign  ;  he  thrust  the  letter  into  Mrs. 
Hauksbee's  bearer's  hand  and  went  off  to  smoke 
with  a  friend.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  expecting 
some  cut-out  pattern  things  in  flimsy  paper  from 
a  friend.  As  soon  as  she  got  the  big  square 
packet,  therefore,  she  said,  "  Oh,  the  dear  crea- 
ture !  "  and  tore  it  open  with  a  paper-knife,  and 
all  the  MS.  enclosures  tumbled  out  on  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  began  reading.  I  have  said 
the  batch  was  rather  important.  That  is  quite 
enough  for  you  to  know.  It  referred  to  some 
correspondence,  two  measures,  a  peremptory 
order  to  a  native  chief  and  two  dozen  other 
things.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  gasped  as  she  read,  for 
the  first  glimpse  of  the  naked  machinery  of  the' 
Great  Indian  Government,  stripped  of  its  casings, 
and  lacquer,  and  paint,  and  guard-rails,  im- 
presses even  the  most  stupid  man.  And  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  was  a  clever  woman.  She  was  a 
little  afraid  at  first,  and  felt  as  if  she  had  laid 
hold  of  a  lightning-flash  by  the  tail,  and  did  not 
quite  know  what  to  do  with  it.  There  were  re- 
marks and  initials  at  the  side  of  the  papers  ; 
and  some  of  the  remarks  were  rather  more 
severe  than  the  papers.  The  initials  belonged 
to  men  who  are  all  dead  or  gone  now ;  but  they 
were  great  in  their  day.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  read 
on  and  thought  calmly  as  she  read.  Then  the 
value  of  her  trove  struck  her,  and  she  cast  about 
for  the  best  method  of  using  it.  Then  Tarrion 
dropped  in,  and  they  read  through  all  the  papers 
together,  and  Tarrion,  not  knowing  how  she  had 
come  by  them,  vowed  that  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was 
the  greatest  woman  on  earth.  Which  I  believe 
was  true,  or  nearly  so. 

"  The  honest  course  is  always  the  best,"  said 


06     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

Tarrion  after  an  hour  and  a  half  of  study  and 
conversation.  "  All  things  considered,  the  In- 
telligence Branch  is  about  my  form.  Either 
that  or  the  Foreign  Office.  I  go  to  lay  siege  to 
the  High  Gods  in  their  Temples." 

He  did  not  seek  a  little  man,  or  a  little  big 
man,  or  a  weak  Head  of  a  strong  Department, 
but  he  called  on  the  biggest  and  strongest  man 
that  the  Government  owned,  and  explained  that 
he  wanted  an  appointment  at  Simla  on  a  good 
salary.  The  compound  insolence  of  this  amused 
the  Strong  Man,  and,  as  he  had  nothing  to  do 
for  the  moment,  he  listened  to  the  proposals  of 
the  audacious  Tarrion.  «'  You  have,  I  presume, 
some  special  qualifications,  besides  the  gift  of 
self-assertion,  for  the  claims  you  put  forward  ?  " 
said  the  Strong  Man.  "  That,  Sir,"  said  Tarrion, 
"  is  for  you  to  judge."  Then  he  began,  for  he 
had  a  good  memory,  quoting  a  few  of  the  more 
important  notes  in  the  papers — slowly  and  one 
by  one  as  a  man  drops  chlorodyne  into  a  glass. 
When  he  had  reached  the  'peremptory  order — 
and  it  was  a  peremptory  order — the  Strong  Man 
was  troubled. 

Tarrion  wound  up : — "  And  I  fancy  that 
special  knowledge  of  this  kind  is  at  least  as 
valuable  for,  let  us  say,  a  berth  in  the  Foreign 
Office,  as  the  fact  of  being  the  nephew  of  a  dis- 
tinguished officer's  wife."  That  hit  the  Strong 
Man  hard,  for  the  last  appointment  to  the  Foreign 
Office  had  been  by  black  favor,  and  he  knew  it. 
•'  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you,"  said  the  Strong 
Man.  "  Many  thanks,"  said  Tarrion.  Then  he 
left,  and  the  Strong  Man  departed  to  see  ho\v 
the  appointment  was  to  be  blocked. 


Consequences  97 

Followed  a  pause  of  eleven  days  ;  with  thun- 
ders and  lightnings  and  much  telegraphing. 
The  appointment  was  not  a  very  important  one, 
carrying  only  between  Rs.  500  and  Rs.  700  a 
month  ;  but,  as  the  Viceroy  said,  it  was  the  prin- 
ciple of  diplomatic  secrecy  that  had  to  be  main- 
tained, and  it  was  more  than  likely  that  a  boy  so 
well  supplied  with  special  information  would  be 
worth  translating.  So  they  translated  him. 
They  must  have  suspected  him,  though  he  pro- 
tested that  his  information  was  due  to  singular 
talents  of  his  own.  Now,  much  of  this  story, 
including  the  after-history  of  the  missing  en- 
velope, you  must  fill  in  for  yourself,  because 
there  are  reasons  why  it  cannot  be  written.  If 
you  do  not  know  about  things  Up  Above,  you 
won't  understand  how  to  fill  in,  and  you  will  say 
it  is  impossible. 

What  the  Viceroy  said  when  Tarrion  was  in- 
troduced to  him  was  : — "  So,  this  is  the  boy  who 
•  rushed  '  the  Government  of  India,  is  it  ?  Rec- 
ollect, Sir,  that  is  not  done  twice"  So  he  must 
have  known  something. 

What  Tarrion  said  when  he  saw  his  appoint- 
ment gazetted  was  : — "  If  Mrs.  Hauksbee  were 
twenty  years  younger,  and  I  her  husband,  I 
should  be  Viceroy  of  India  in  fifteen  years." 

What  Mrs.  Hauksbee  said,  when  Tarrion 
thanked  her,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  was 
first : — "  I  told  you  so  !  "  and  next,  to  herself: — 
"  What  fools  men  are  I  " 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    AURELIAN    Mo 
GOGGIN. 

Ride  with  an  idle  whip,  ride  with  an  unused  heel 
But,  once  in  a  way,  there  will  come  a  day 
When  the  colt  must  be  taught  to  feel 

The  lash  that  falls,  and  the  curb  that  galls,  and  the   sting  of  the 
roweled  steel. 

Life1!  Handicap. 

THIS  is  not  a  tale  exactly.  It  is  a  Tract ;  and 
I  am  immensely  proud  of  it.  Making  a  Tract  is 
a  Feat. 

Every  man  is  entitled  to  his  own  religious 
opinions  ;  but  no  man — least  of  all  a  junior — has 
a  right  to  thrust  these  down  other  men's  throats. 
The  Government  sends  out  weird  Civilians  now 
and  again  ;  But  McGoggin  was  the  queerest  ex- 
ported for  a  long  time.  He  was  clever — bril- 
liantly clever — but  his  cleverness  worked  the 
wrong  way.  Instead  of  keeping  to  the  study  of 
the  vernaculars,  he  had  read  some  books  written 
by  a  man  called  Comte,  I  think,  and  a  man  called 
Spencer,  and  a  Professor  Clifford.  [You  will 
find  these  books  in  the  Library.]  They  deal 
with  people's  insides  from  the  point  of  view  of 
men  who  have  no  stomachs.  There  was  no 
order  against  his  reading  them  ;  but  his  Mama 
should  have  smacked  him.  They  fermented  in 
his  head,  and  he  came  out  to  India  with  a  rare- 
fied religion  over  and  above  his  work.  It  was 
not  much  of  a  creed.  It  only  proved  that  men 
had  no  souls,  and  there  was  no  God  and  no 
hereafter,  and  that  you  must  worry  along  some- 
how for  the  good  of  Humanity. 


Aurelian  McGoggin's  Conversion    99 

One  of  its  minor  tenets  seemed  to  be  that  the 
one  thing  more  sinful  than  giving  an  order  was 
obeying  it.  At  least,  that  was  what  McGoggm 
said  ;  but  I  suspect  he  had  misread  his  primers. 

I  do  not  say  a  word  against  this  creed.  It 
was  made  up  in  Town  where  there  is  nothing 
but  machinery  and  asphalte  and  building — all 
shut  in  by  the  fog.  Naturally,  a  man  grows  to 
think  that  there  is  no  one  higher  than  himself, 
and  that  the  Metropolitan  Board  of  Works  made 
everything.  But  in  this  country,  where  you 
really  see  humanity — raw,  brown,  naked  human- 
ity— with  nothing  between  it  and  the  blazing 
sky,  and  only  the  used-up,  over-handled  earth 
underfoot,  the  notion  somehow  dies  away,  and 
most  folk  come  back  to  simpler  theories.  Life, 
in  India,  is  not  long  enough  to  waste  in  proving 
that  there  is  no  one  in  particular  at  the  head  of 
affairs.  For  this  reason.  The  Deputy  is  above 
the  Assistant,  the  Commissioner  above  the  Dep- 
uty, the  Lieutenant-Governor  above  the  Com- 
missioner, and  the  Viceroy  above  all  four,  under 
the  orders  of  the  Secretary  of  State  who  is  re- 
sponsible to  the  Empress.  If  the  Empress  be  not 
responsible  to  her  Maker — if  there  is  no  Maker 
for  her  to  be  responsible  to — the  entire  system 
of  Our  administration  must  be  wrong.  Which 
is  manifestly  impossible,  At  Home  men  are  to 
be  excused.  They  are  stalled  up  a  good  deal 
and  get  intellectually  "beany."  When  you  take 
a  gross,  "  beany  "  horse  to  exercise,  he  slavers 
and  slobbers  over  the  bit  till  you  can't  see  the 
horns.  But  the  bit  is  there  just  the  same.  Men 
do  not  get  "  beany  "  in  India.  The  climate  and 
the  work  are  against  playing  tricks  with  words. 

If  McGoggin  had  kept  his  creed,  with  the  cap« 


ioo     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

ital  letters  and  the  endings  in  "  isms,"  to  him- 
self, no  one  would  have  cared  ;  but  his  grand- 
fathers on  both  sides  had  been  Wesleyan 
preachers,  and  the  preaching  strain  came  out  in 
his  mind.  He  wanted  every  one  at  the  Club  to 
see  that  they  had  no  souls  too,  and  to  help  him 
to  eliminate  his  Creator.  As  a  good  many  men 
told  him,  he  undoubtedly  had  no  soul,  because 
he  was  so  young,  but  it  did  not  follow  that  his 
seniors  were  equally  undeveloped  ;  and,  whether 
there  was  another  world  or  not,  a  man  still 
wanted  to  read  his  papers  in  this.  "  But  that 
is  not  the  point — that  is  not  the  point  !  "  Aure- 
lian  used  to  say.  Then  men  threw  sofa-cushions 
at  him  and  told  him  to  go  to  any  particular  place 
he  might  believe  in.  They  christened  him  the 
••  Blastoderm," — he  said  he  came  from  a  family 
of  that  name  somewhere,  in  the  pre-  historic  ages, 
— and,  by  insult  and  laughter  strove  to  choke 
him  dumb,  for  he  was  an  unmitigated  nuisance 
at  the  Club  ;  besides  being  an  offense  to  the  older 
men.  His  Deputy  Commissioner,  who  was 
working  on  the  Frontier  when  Aurelian  was 
rolling  on  a  beclquilt,  told  him  that,  for  a  clever 
boy,  Aurelian  was  a  very  big  idiot.  And,  you 
know,  ii  he  had  gone  on  with  his  work,  he 
would  have  been  caught  up  to  the  Secretariat  in 
a  few  years.  He  was  just  the  type  that  goes 
there — all  head,  no  physique  and  a  hundred 
theories.  Not  a  soul  was  interested  in  McGog- 
gin's  soul.  He  might  have  had  two,  or  none,  or 
somebody  else's.  His  business  was  to  obey 
orders  and  keep  abreast  of  his  files  instead  o( 
devastating  the  Club  with  "isms." 

He  worked  brilliantly  ;  but  he  could  not  ac- 
cept any  order  without  trying  to  better  it.     That 


Aurelian  McGoggin's  Conversion  101 

was  the  fault  ot  his  creed.  It  made  men  too 
responsible  and  left  too  much  to  their  honor. 
You  can  sometimes  ride  an  old  horse  in  a  halter  ; 
but  never  a  colt.  McGoggin  took  more  trouble 
over  his  cases  than  any  of  the  men  of  his  year. 
He  may  have  fancied  that  thirty-page  judgments 
on  tifty-rupee  cases — both  sides  perjured  to  the 
gullet — advanced  the  cause  of  Humanity.  At 
any  rate,  he  worked  too  much,  and  worried  and 
fretted  over  the  rebukes  he  received,  and  lectured 
away  on-  his  ridiculous  creed  out  of  office,  till 
the  doctor  had  to  warm  bim  that  he  was  over- 
doing it.  No  man  can  toil  eighteen  annas  in 
the  rupee  in  June  without  suffering.  But  Mc- 
Goggin was  still  intellectually  "  beany "  and 
proud  of  himself  and  his  powers,  and  he  would 
take  no  hint.  He  worked  nine  hours  a  day 
steadily. 

«'  Very  well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  you'll  break 
down  because  you  are  over-engined  for  your 
beam."  McGoggin  was  a  little  chap. 

One  day,  the  collapse  came — as  dramatically 
as  if  it  had  been  meant  to  embellish  a  Tract. 

It  was  just  before  the  Rains.  We  were  sitting 
in  the  veranda  in  the  dead,  hot,  close  air, 
gasping  and  praying  that  the  black-blue  clouds 
would  let  down  and  bring  the  cool.  Very,  very 
far  away,  there  was  a  faint  whisper,  which  was 
the  roar  of  the  Rains  breaking  over  the  river. 
One  of  the  men  heard  it,  got  out  of  his  chair, 
listened,  and  said,  naturally  enough  : — "  Thank 
God  ! " 

Then  the  Blastoderm  turned  in  his  place  and 
said  : — 

"Why?  I  assure  you  it's  only  the  result  ol 
perfectly  natural  causes — atmospheric  phenom- 


IO2     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

ena  of  the  simplest  kind.  Why  you  should, 
therefore,  return  thanks  to  a  Being  who  never 
did  exist — who  is  only  a  figment " 

"  Blastoderm,"  grunted  the  man  in  the  next 
chair,  "dry  up,  and  throw  me  over  the  Pioneer. 
We  know  all  about  your  figments."  The  Blas- 
toderm reached  out  to  the  table,  took  up  one 
paper,  and  jumped  as  if  something  had  stung 
him.  Then  he  handed  the  paper  over. 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  he  went  on  slowly  and 
with  an  effort — "due  to  perfectly  natural  causes 
— perfectly  natural  causes.  I  mean " 

"  Hi  !  Blastoderm,  you've  given  me  the  Cal- 
cutta Mercantile  Advertiser." 

The  dust  got  up  in  little  whorls,  while  the  tree- 
tops  rocked  and  the  kites  whistled.  But  no  one 
was  looking  at  the  coming  of  the  Rains.  We 
were  all  staring  at  the  Blastoderm  who  had  risen 
from  his  chair  and  was  fighting  with  his  speech. 
Then  he  said,  still  more  slowly  : — 

"  Perfectly  conceivable- dictionary red 

oak amenable cause retaining 

shuttlecock alone." 

"  Blastoderm's  drunk,"  said  one  man.  But  the 
Blastoderm  was  not  drunk.  He  looked  at  us  in 
a  dazed  sort  of  way,  and  began  motioning  with 
his  hands  in  the  half  light  as  the  clouds  closed 
overhead.  Then — with  a  scream  : — 

"  What  is  it  ? Can't reserve attain- 
able  market obscure." 

But  his  speech  seemed  to  freeze  in  him,  and — • 
just  as  the  lightning  shot  two  tongues  that  cut 
the  whole  sky  into  three  pieces  and  the  rain  fell 
in  quivering  sheets — the  Blastoderm  was  struck 
dumb.  He  stood  pawing  and  champing  like  a 
hard-held  horse,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  terror. 


Aurelian  McGoggin's  Conversion  103 

The  Doctor  came  over  in  three  minutes,  and 
heard  the  story.  "  It's  aphasia"  he  said. 
"  Take  him  to  his  room.  I  knew  the  smash 
would  come."  We  carried  the  Blastoderm  across 
in  the  pouring  rain  to  his  quarters,  and  the  Doc- 
tor gave  him  bromide  of  potassium  to  make  him 
sleep. 

Then  the  Doctor  came  back  to  us  and  told  us 
that  aphasia  was  like  all  the  arrears  of  "  Punjab 
Head  "  falling  in  a  lump  ;  and  that  only  once  be- 
fore— in  the  case  of  a  sepoy — had  he  met  with 
so  complete  a  case.  I  myself  have  seen  mild 
aphasia  in  an  overworked  man,  but  this  sudden 
dumbness  was  uncanny — though,  as  the  Blasto- 
derm himself  might  have  said,  due  to  "  perfectly 
natural  causes." 

"  He'll  have  to  take  leave  after  this,"  said  the 
Doctor.  "  He  won't  be  fit  to  work  for  another 
three  months.  No  ;  it  isn't  insanity  or  anytihng 
like  it.  It's  only  complete  loss  of  control  over 
the  speech  and  memory.  I  lancy  it  will  keep 
the  Blastoderm  quiet,  though." 

Two  days  later,  the  Blastoderm  found  his 
tongue  again.  The  first  question  he  asked  was  : — • 
"  What  was  it  ?  "  The  Doctor  enlightened  him. 
41  But  I  can't  understand  it !  "  said  the  Blasto- 
derm ;  "  I'm  quite  sane  ;  but  I  can't  be  sure  of 
my  mind,  it  seems — my  own  memory — can  I  ?  " 

"Go  up  into  the  Hills  for  three  months,  and 
don't  think  about  it,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  But  I  can't  understand  it,"  repeated  the 
Blastoderm  ;  "  it  was  my  own  mind  and  mem- 
ory." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  the  Doctor  ;  there  are  a 
good  many  things  you  can't  understand  ;  and  by 
the  time  you  have  put  in  my  length  of  service, 


104     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

you'll  know  exactly  how  much  a  man  dare  call 
his  own  in  this  world." 

The  stroke  cowed  the  Blastoderm.  He  could 
not  understand  it.  He  went  into  the  Hills  in 
fear  and  trembling,  wondering  whether  he  would 
be  permitted  to  reach  the  end  of  any  sentence  he 
began. 

This  gave  him  a  wholesome  feeling  of  mistrust. 
The  legitimate  explanation,  that  he  had  been 
overworking  himself,  failed  to  satisfy  him.  Some- 
thing had  wiped  his  lips  of  speech,  as  a  mother 
wipes  the  milky  lips  of  her  child,  and  he  was 
afraid — horribly  afraid. 

So  the  Club  had  rest  when  he  returned  ;  and 
if  ever  you  come  across  Aurelian  McGoggin  lay- 
ing down  the  law  on  things  Human — he  doesn't 
seem  to  know  as  much  as  he  used  to  about  things 
Divine — put  your  forefinger  on  your  lip  for  a 
moment,  and  see  what  happens. 

Don't  blame  me  if  he  throws  a  glass  at  your 
head  1 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN. 

So  we  loosed  a  bloomin'  volley, 
An'  we  made  the  beggars  cut, 
An'  when  our  pouch  was  emptied  out, 
We  used  the  bloomin'  butt, 
Ho !     My  1 
Don't  yer  come  anigh. 
When  Tommy  is  a  playin'  with  the  baynit  an*  the  butt. 

Barrack  Room  Ballad. 

MY  friend  Private  Mulvaney  told  me  this,  sitting 
on  the  parapet  of  the  road  to  Dagshai,  when  we 
were  hunting  butterflies  together.  He  had  the- 
ories about  the  Army,  and  colored  clay  pipes 
perfectly.  He  said  that  the  young  soldier  is  the 
best  to  work  with,  "on  account  av  the  surpass^ 
ing  innocinse  av  the  child." 

"Now,  listen  !"said  Mulvaney,  throwing  him- 
self full  length  on  the  wall  in  the  sun.  "  I'm  a 
born  scutt  av  the  barrick-room  !  The  Army's 
mate  an' drink  to  me'  bekaze  I'm  wan  av  the  few 
that  can't  quit  ut.  I've  put  in  sivinteen  years, 
an*  the  pipeclay's  in  the  marrow  av  me.  Av  I 
cud  have  kept  out  av  wan  big  dhrink  a  month,  I 
wud  have  been  a  Hon'ry  Lift'nint  by  this  time — • 
a  nuisince  to  my  betthers,  a  laughin'-shtock  to 
my  equils,  an*  a  curse  to  meself.  Bein'  fwhat  I 
am,  I'm  Privit  Mulvaney,  wid  no  good-conduc* 
pay  an'  a  devourin"  thirst.  Always  barrin'  me 
little  frind  Bobs  Bahadur,  I  know  as  much  about 
the  Army  as  most  men." 

I  said  something  here. 

"  Wolseley  be  shot !  Betune  you  an'  me  an' 
that  butterfly  net,  he's  a  ramhlin',  incoherintsort 
av  a  divil,  wid  wan  oi  on  the  Quane  an*  the  Coort, 


io6     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

an"  the  other  on  his  blessed  silf — everlnstin'ly 
playing  Saysar  an'  Alexandrier  rowled  into  a 
lump.  Now  Bobs  is  a  sinsible  little  man.  Wid 
Bobs  an'  a  few  three-year-olds,  I'd  swape  any 
army  av  the  earth  into  a  jhairun,  an'  throw  it 
away  aftherwards.  Faith,  I'm  not  jokin'  !  Tis 
the  bhoys — the  raw  bhoys — that  don't  know 
fwhat  a  bullut  manes,  an'  wudn't  care  av  they 
did — that  dhu  the  work.  They're  crammed  wid 
bullmate  till  they  fairly  ramps  wid  good  livin' ; 
and  thin,  av  they  don't  fight,  they  blow  each 
other's  hids  off.  'Tis  the  trut'  I'm  tellin'  you. 
They  shud  be  kept  on  dal-bhat  an'  kijri  in  the 
hot  weather  ;  but  there'd  be  a  mut'ny  av  'twas 
done. 

"Did  ye  iver  hear  how  Privit  Mulvaney  tuk 
the  town  av  Lungtungpen  ?  I  thought  not  ! 
'Twas  the  Lift'nint  got  the  credit  ;  but  t'was  me 
planned  the  schame.  A  little  before  I  was  invi- 
larled  from  Burma,  me  an'  four  an'  twenty  young 
wans  unclher  a  Lift'nint  Brazenose,  was  ruinin' 
our  dijeshins  thryin'  to  catch  dacoits.  An'  such 
double-ended  divils  I  niver  knew  !  'Tis  only  a 
dah  an'  a  Snider  that  makes  a  deceit.  Wiclout 
thim,  he's  a  paceful  cultivator,  an'  felony  for  to 
shoot.  We  hunted,  an'  we  hunted,  an  tuk  fever 
an'  elephants  now  an'  again  ;  but  no  dacoits. 
Evenshually.  we  puckarowed  wan  man.  'Trate 
him  tinclerly,'  sez  the  Lift'nint.  So  I  tuk  him 
away  into  the  jungle,  wid  the  Burmese  Interprut'r 
an'  my  clanin'-rod.  Sez  I  to  the  man  : — '  My 
paceful  squireen,'  sez  I,  '  you  shquot  on  your 
hunkers  an'  dimonstrate  to  my  frind  here,  where 
your  trinds  are  whin  they're  at  home  ? '  Wid 
that  I  introjuced  him  to  the  clanin'-rod,  and  he 
comminst  to  jabber  ;  the  Interprut'r  interprutin1 


The  Taking  of  Lungtungpen     107 

in  betweens,  an"  me  helpin'  the  Intilligince  De- 
partmint  wid  my  clanin'-rod  whin  the  man 
misremimbered. 

"  Prisintly,  I  learnt  that,  acrostthe  river,  about 
nine  miles  away,  was  a  town  just  dhrippin*  wid 
dahs,  an'  bohs  an'  arrows,  an'  dacoits,  an"  ele- 
phints,  an'  jingles.  '  Good! '  sez  I.  «  This  office 
will  now  close  ! ' 

"  That  night,  I  went  to  th  Lift'nint  an'  com- 
municates my  information.  I  never  thought 
much  of  Lift'nint  Brazenose  till  that  night.  He 
was  shtiff  wid  books  an*  the-ouries,  an'  all  man- 
ner av  thrimmin's  no  manner  av  use.  « Town 
did  ye  say  ? '  sez  he.  '  Accordin'  to  -the  the- 
ouries  av  War,  weshud  wait  for  reinforcemints.' 
1  Faith  ! '  thinks  I,  '  we'd  betther  dig  our  graves 
thin  '  ;  for  the  nearest  throops  was  up  to  their 
shtocks  in  the  marshes  out  Mimbu  way.  «  But,' 
says  the  Lift'nint,  'since  'tis  a  speshil  case,  I'll 
make  an  excepshin.  We'll  visit  this  Lungtung- 
pen to-night.' 

"  The  bhoys  was  fairly  woild  wid  deloight 
whin  I  tould  'em  ;  an'  by  this  an'  that,  they  wint 
through  the  jungle  like  buck-rabbits.  About 
midnight  we  come  to  the  shtrame  which  I  had 
clane  forgot  to  minshin  to  my  orficer.  I  was 
on,  ahead,  wid  four  bhoys,  an'  I  thought  that  the 
Lift'nint  might  want  to  \\\z-ourize.  '  Shtrip, 
bhoys  ! '  sez  I.  « Shtrip  to  the  buff,  an*  shwim  in 
where  glory  waits  ! '  '  But  I  can' I  shwim  ! '  sez 
two  av  thim.  'To  think  I  should  live  to  hear 
that  from  a  bhoy  wid  a  board-school  edukashin  !' 
sez  I.  '  Take  a  lump  av  thimber,  an'  me  an' 
Conolly  here  will  ferry  ye  over,  ye  young  ladies  ! ' 

"We  got  an  oulcl  tree-trunk,  an' pushed  off 
wid  the  kits  an'  the  rifles  on  it.  The  night  was 


io8     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

chokin'  dhark,  an' just  as  we  was  fairly  embarked, 
I  heard  the  Lift'nint  behind  av  me  callin'  out. 
•There's  a  bit  av  a  nullah  here,  Sorr,'  sez  I, 
«  but  I  can  feel  the  bottom  already.'  So  I  cud, 
for  I  was  not  a  yard  from  the  bank. 

"  '  Bit  av  a  nullah  !  Bit  av  an  eshtuary  ! '  sez 
the  Lift'nint.  '  Goon,  ye  mad  Irishman  !  Shtrip, 
bhoys  ! '  I  heard  him  laugh  ;  an'  the  bhoys 
begun  shtrippin'  an'  rollin'  a  log  into  the  wather 
to  put  their  kits  on.  So  me  an'  Conolly  shtruck 
out  through  the  warm  wather  wid  our  log,  an' 
the  rest  come  on  behind. 

"  That  shtrame  was  miles  woide  !  Orth'ris, 
on  the  rear-rank  log,  whispers  we  had  got  into 
the  Thames  below  Sheerness  by  mistake.  '  Kape 
on  shwimmin',  ye  little  blayguard,'  says  I,  'an' 
don't  go  pokin'  your  dirty  jokes  at  the  Irriwaddy.' 
•Silence,  men  !  '  sings  out  the  Lift'nint.  So  we 
shwum  on  into  the  black  dhark,  wid  our  chests 
on  the  logs,  trustin'  in  the  Saints  an'  the  luck  av 
the  British  Army. 

"  Evenshually,  we  hit  ground — a  bit  of  sand — 
an"  a  man.  I  put  my  heel  on  the  back  av  him. 
He  skreeched  an'  ran. 

"  '  Now  we've  done  it  ! '  sez  Lift'nint  Braze- 
nose.  'Where  the  Devil  is  Lungtungpen  ? ' 
There  was  about  a  minute  and  a  half  to  wait. 
The  bhoys  laid  a  hould  av  their  rifles  an'  some 
thried  to  put  their  belts  on  ;  we  was  marchin' 
wid  fixed  baynits  av  coorse.  Thin  we  knew 
where  Lungtungpen  was  ;  for  we  had  hit  the 
the  river-wall  av  it  in  the  dhark,  an'  the  whole 
town  blazed  wid  thim  messin' jingles  an'  Sniders 
like  a  cat's  back  on  a  frosty  night.  They  was 
firin'  all  ways  at  wanst ;  but  over  our  hids  into 
the  shtrame. 


The  Taking  of  Lungtungpen     109 

««  •  Have  you  got  your  rifles  ?  '  sez  Brazenose. 
•Got  'em!'  sez  Orth'ris,  'I've  got  that  thief 
Mulvaney's  for  all  my  back-pay,  an*  she'll  kick 
my  heart  sick  wid  that  blunderin'  longshtock  av 
hers.'  'Go  on  ! '  yells  Brazenose,  whippin*  his 
sword  out.  '  Go  on  an'  take  the  town  !  An*  the 
Lord  have  mercy  on  our  sowls  ! ' 

"  Thin  the  bhoys  gave  wan  divastatin*  howl, 
an'  pranced  into  the  dhark,  feelin'  for  the  town, 
an'  blindin'  an'  stiffin'  like  Cavalry  Ridin*  Masters 
whin  the  grass  pricked  their  bare  legs.  I  ham- 
mered wid  the  butt  at  some  bamboo  thing  that 
felt  awake,  an'  the  rest  come  and  hammered 
contagious,  while  \\\&  jingles  was  jingling,  an* 
feroshus  yells  from  inside  was  shplittin' our  ears. 
We  was  too  close  under  the  wall  for  thim  to 
hurt  us. 

"  Evenshually,  the  thing,  whatever  ut  was, 
bruk  ;  an*  the  six  and  twinty  av  us  tumbled,  wan 
afther  the  other,  naked  as  we  was  borrun,  into 
the  town  of  Lungtungpen.  There  was  a  melly 
av  a  sumpshus  kind  for  a  whoile  ;  but  whether 
they  tuk  us,  all  white  an'  wet,  for  a  new  breed 
av  devil,  or  a  new  kind  of  dacoit,  I  don't  know. 
They  ran  as  though  we  was  both,  an'  we  wint 
into  thim,  baynit  an'  butt,  shriekin'  wid  laughin'. 
There  was  torches  in  the  shtreets,  an'  I  saw  little 
Orth'ris  rubbin*  hisshowlther  ivry  time  he  loosed 
my  long-shtock  Martini  ;  an'  Brazenose  walkin' 
into  the  gang  wid  his  sword,  like  Diarmid  avthe 
Golden  Collar — barring  he  hadn't  a  stitch  of  cloth- 
inf  on  him.  We  diskivered  elephints  wid  deceits 
under  their  bellies,  an',  what  wid  wan  thing  an' 
another,  we  was  busy  till  mornin'  takin'  posses- 
sion av  the  town  of  Lungtungpen. 

"  Thin  we  halted  an'  formed  up,  the  wimmen 


no     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

howlin'  in  the  houses  an'  Lift'nint  Brazenose 
blushin'  pmk  in  the  light  av  the  mornin'  sun. 
Twas  the  most  ondasint  p'rade  I  iver  tuk  a  hand 
in.  Foive  and  twenty  privits  an'  a  orficer  av  the 
line  in  review  ordher,  an'  not  as  much  as  wud 
dust  a  fife  betune  'em  all  in  the  way  of  clothin' ! 
Eight  of  us  had  their  belts  an'  pouches  on  ;  but 
the  rest  had  gone  in  wid  a  handful  of  cartridges 
an'  the  skin  God  gave  him.  They  was  as  nakid 
as  Vanus. 

"  •  Number  off  from  the  right  ! '  sez  the  Lift'- 
nint. •  Odd  numbers  fall  out  to  dress  ;  even 
numbers  pathrol  the  town  till  relieved  by  the 
dressing  party.'  Let  me  tell  you,  pathrolin*  a 
town  wid  nothing  on  is  an  ex^oyrience.  I 
pathroled  for  ten  minutes,  an'  begad,  before 
'twas  over,  I  blushed.  The  women  laughed  so. 
I  niver  blushed  before  or  since  ;  but  I  blushed 
all  over  my  carkiss  thin.  Orth'ris  didn't  pathrol. 
He  sez  only  : — •'  Portsmith  Barricks  an'  the  'Ard 
av  a  Sunday  !  '  Thin  he  lay  down  an'  rowled 
anyways  wid  laughin*. 

"When  we  was  all  dhressed,  we  counted  the 
dead — sivinty-foive  dacoits  besides  wounded.  We 
tuk  five  elephints,  a  hunder'  an'  sivinty  Sniders, 
two  hunder'  dahs,  and  a  lot  av  other  burglarious 
thruck.  Not  a  man  av  us  was  hurt — excep'  may- 
be the  Lift'nint,  an'  he  from  the  shock  to  his 
dasincy. 

"  The  Headman  av  Luntungpen,  who  sur- 
rinder'd  himself,  asked  the  Interprut'r  : — '  Avthe 
English  fight  like  that  wid  their  clo'es  off,  what 
in  the  wurruld  do  they  do  wid  their  clo'es  on  ?' 
Orth'ris  began  rowlin'  his  eyes  an'  crackin'  his 
fingers  an'  dancin'  a  step-dance  for  to  impress 
the  Headman.  He  ran  to  his  house ;  an'  we 


The  Taking  of  Lungtungpen     in 

spint  the  rest  av  the  day  carryin'  the  Lift'nint  on 
our  showlthers  round  the  town,  an  playin'  wid 
the  Burmese  babies — fat,  little,  brown  little  devils, 
as  pretty  as  pictures. 

"  Win  I  was  inviladed  for  the  Dysent'ry  to 
India,  I  sez  to  the  Lift'nint : — '  Sorr,'  sez  I, 
•you've  the  makin's  in  you  av  a  great  man  ;  but, 
av  you'll  let  an  ould  sodger  spake,  you're  too 
fond  of  the-ouriztn',  He  shuk  hands  wid  me 
and  sez  : — "  Hit  high,  hit  low,  there's  no  plasin 
you,  Mulvaney.  You've  seen  me  waltzin'  through 
Lungtungpen  like  a  Red  Injin  \yidout  the  war- 
paint, an'  you  say  I'm  too  fond  av  \\\&-ourizin'  f  ' 
'  Sorr,'  sez  I,  for  I  loved  the  bhoy  ;  '  I  wud  waltz 
wid  you  in  that  condishin  through  Hell,  an'  so 
wud  the  rest  av  the  men  ! '  Thin  I  wint  down- 
shtrame  in  the  flat  an'  left  him  my  blessin'. 
May  the  Saints  carry  ut  where  ut  shud  go,  for  he 
was  a  fine  upstandin'  young  orficer. 

"  To  reshume  !  Fwhat  I've  said  jist  shows 
the  use  av  three-year-olds.  Wud  fifty  seasoned 
sodgers  have  taken  Lungtungpen  in  the  dhark 
that  way  ?  No  !  They'd  know  the  risk  av  fever 
an  chill.  Let  alone  the  shootin'.  Twohundher' 
might  have  done  ut.  But  the  three-year-olds 
know  little  an*  care  less  ;  an'  where  there's  no 
fear,  there's  no  danger.  Catch  thim  young,  feed 
thim  high,  an*  by  the  honor  av  that  great,  little 
man  Bobs,  behind  a  good  orficer  'tisn't  only 
dacoits  they'd  smash  wid  their  clo'es  off — 'tis 
Con-ti-nental  Ar-r-r-mies  !  They  tuk  Lungtung- 
pen nakid  ;  an"  they'd  take  St.  Pethersburg  in 
their  dhrawers  !  Begad,  they  would  that  ! 

"  Here's  your  pipe,  Sorr  !  Shmoke  her  tin- 
derly  wid  honey-dew,  afther  letting  the  reek  av 
the  Canteen  plug  die  away.  But  'tis  no  good, 


ii2     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

thanks  to  you  all  the  same,  fillin'  my  pouch  wid 
your  chopped  bhoosa.  Canteen  baccy 's  like  the 
Army.  It  shpoils  a  man's  taste  for  moilder 
things." 

So  saying,  Mulvaney  took  up  his  butterfly-net, 
and  marched  to  barracks. 


A  GERM  DESTROYER. 

Pleasant  it  is  for  the  Little  Tin  Gods 

When  great  Jove  nods  ; 

But  Little  Tin  Gods  make  their  little  mistakes 
In  missing  the  hour  when  great  Jove  wakes. 

As  a  general  rule,  it  is  inexpedient  to  meddle 
with  questions  of  State  in  a  land  where  men  are 
highly  paid  to  work  them  out  for  you.  This  tale 
is  a  justifiable  exception. 

Once  in  every  five  years,  as  you  know,  we  in- 
dent for  a  new  Viceroy  ;  and  each  Viceroy  im- 
ports, with  the  rest  of  his  baggage,  a  Private 
Secretary,  who  may  or  may  not  be  the  real 
Viceroy,  just  as  Fate  ordains.  Fate  looks  after 
the  Indian  Empire  because  it  is  so  big  and  so 
helpless. 

There  was  a  Viceroy  once,  who  brought  out 
with  him  a  turbulent  Private  Secretary — a  hard 
man  with  a  soft  manner  and  a  morbid  passion 
for  work.  This  Secretary  was  called  Wonder — 
John  Fennil  Wonder.  The  Viceroy  possessed 
no  name — nothing  but  a  string  of  counties  and 
two-thirds  of  the  alphabet  after  them.  He  said, 
in  confidence,  that  he  was  the  electro-plated 
figure-head  of  a  golden  administration,  and  he 
watched  in  a  dreamy,  amused  way  Wonder's 
attempts  to  draw  matters  which  were  entirely 
outside  his  province  into  his  own  hands.  "  When 
we  are  all  cherubims  together,"  said  His  Excel- 
lency once,  "  my  dear,  good  friend  Wonder  will 
head  the  conspiracy  for  plucking  out  Gabriel's 

"3 


H4     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

tail-feathers,  or  stealing  Peter's  keys.  Then  I 
shall  report  him." 

But,  though  the  Viceroy  did  nothing  to  check 
Wonder's  officiousness,  other  people  said  un- 
pleasant things.  Maybe  the  Members  of  Council 
began  it ;  but,  finally,  all  Simla  agreed  that 
there  was  "  too  much  Wonder,  and  too  little 
Viceroy  "  in  that  regime.  Wonder  was  always 
quoting  "  His  Excellency."  It  was  "  His  Ex- 
cellency this,"  "  His  Excellency  that,"  "  In  the 
opinion  of  his  Excellency,"  and  so  on.  The 
Viceroy  smiled  ;  but  he  did  not  heed.  He  said 
that,  so  long  as  his  old  men  squabbled  with  his 
"  dear,  good  Wonder,"  they  might  be  induced  to 
leave  the  "  Immemorial  East"  in  peace. 

"  No  wise  man  has  a  policy,"  said  the  Viceroy. 
"  A  Policy  is  the  blackmail  levied  on  the  Fool  by 
the  Unforeseen.  I  am  not  the  former,  and  I  do 
not  believe  in  the  latter." 

I  do  not  quite  see  what  this  means,  unless  it 
refers  to  an  Insurance  Policy.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  Viceroy's  way  of  saying  : — "Lie  low." 

That  season,  came  up  to  Simla  one  of  these 
crazy  people  with  only  a  single  idea.  These  are 
the  men  who  make  things  move  ;  but  they  are 
not  nice  to  talk  to.  This  man's  name  was 
Mellish,  and  he  had  lived  for  fifteen  years  on 
land  of  his  own,  in  Lower  Bengal,  studying 
cholera.  He  held  that  cholera  was  a  germ  that 
propagated  itself  as  it  flew  through  a  muggy 
atmosphere  ;  and  stuck  in  the  branches  of  trees 
like  a  woolflake.  The  germ  could  be  rendered 
sterile,  he  said,  by  "  Mellish's  Own  Invincible 
Fumigatory" — a  heavy  violet-black  powder — 
"the  result  of  fifteen  years'  scientific  investiga« 
tion,  Sir  ! " 


The  Germ  Destroyer        115 

Inventors  seem  very  much  alike  as  a  caste. 
They  talk  loudly,  especially  about  "  conspiracies 
of  monopolists  ;"  they  beat  upon  the  table  with 
their  fists  ;  and  they  secrete  fragments  of  their 
inventions  about  their  persons. 

Mellish  said  that  there  was  a  Medical  "  Ring  " 
at  Simla,  headed  by  the  Surgeon-General,  who 
was  in  league,  apparently,  with  all  the  Hospital 
Assistants  in  the  Empire.  I  forget  exactly  how 
he  proved  it,  but  it  had  something  to  do  with 
"skulking  up  to  the  Hills";  and  what  Mellish 
wanted  was  the  independent  evidence  of  the 
Viceroy — "  Steward  of  our  Most  Gracious  Ma- 
jesty the  Queen,  Sir."  So  Mellish  went  up  to 
Simla,  with  eighty-four  pounds  of  Ftimigatory  in 
his  trunk,  to  speak  to  the  Viceroy  and  to  show 
him  the  merits  of  the  invention. 

But  it  is  easier  to  see  a  Viceroy  than  to  talk 
to  him,  unless  you  chance  to  be  as  important  as 
Mellishe  of  Madras.  He  was  a  six-thousand- 
rupee  man,  so  great  that  his  daughters  never 
"married."  They  "  contracted  alliances."  He 
himself  was  not  paid.  He  "  received  emolu- 
ments," and  his  journeys  about  the  country  were 
"tours  of  observation."  His  business  was  to 
stir  up  the  people  in  Madras  with  a  long  pole — 
as  you  stir  up  tench  in  a  pond — and  the  people 
had  to  come  up  out  of  their  comfortable  old  ways 
and  gasp  : — "  This  is  Enlightenment  and  Prog- 
ress. Isn't  it  fine!"  Then  they  gave  Mellishe 
statues  and  jasmine  garlands,  in  the  hope  o-f 
getting  rid  of  him. 

Mellishe  came  up  to  Simla  "  to  confer  with  the 
Viceroy."  That  was  one  of  his  perquisites. 
The  Viceroy  knew  nothing  of  Mellishe  except 
that  he  was  "one  of  those  middle-class  deities 


n6     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

who  seem  necessary  to  the  spiritual  comfort  of 
this  Paradise  of  the  Middle-classes,"  and  that,  in 
all  probability,  he  had  "  suggested,  designed, 
founded,  and  endowed  all  the  public  institutions 
in  Madras."  Which  proves  that  His  Excellency, 
though  dreamy,  had  experience  of  the  ways  of 
six-thousand-rupee  men. 

Mellishe's  name  was  E.  Mellishe,  and  Mellish's 
was  E.  S.  Mellish,  and  they  were  both  staying  at 
the  same  hotel,  and  the  Fate  that  looks  after  the 
Indian  Empire  ordained  that  Wonder  should 
blunder  and  drop  the  final  "  e  ;  "  that  the  Cha- 
prassi  should  help  him,  and  that  the  note  which 
ran  :  "  Dear  Mr.  Mellish. —  Can  you  set  aside 
your  other  engagements,  and  lunch  with  us  at 
two  to-morrow  ?  His  Excellency  has  an  hour  at 
your  disposal  then,"  should  be  given  to  Mellish 
with  the  Fumigatory.  He  nearly  wept  with  pride 
and  delight,  and  at  the  appointed  hour  cantered 
to  Peterhoff,  a  big-paper  bag  full  of  the  Fumiga- 
tory in  his  coat-tail  pockets.  He  had  his  chance, 
and  he  meant  to  make  the  most  of  it.  Mellishe 
of  Madras  had  been  so  portentously  solemn  about 
his  "  conference,"  that  Wonder  had  arranged  for 
a  private  tiffin, — no  A.-D.-C.'s,  no  Wonder,  no 
one  but  the  Viceroy,  who  said  plaintively  that 
he  feared  being  left  alone  with  unmuzzled  auto- 
crats like  the  great  Mellishe  of  Madras. 

But  his  guest  did  not  bore  the  Viceroy.  On 
the  contrary,  he  amused  him.  Mellish  was  nerv- 
ously anxious  to  go  straight  to  his  Fumigatory, 
and  talked  at  random  until  tiffin  was  over  and  His 
Excellency  asked  him  to  smoke.  The  Viceroy 
was  pleased  with  Mellish  because  he  did  not 
•'  talk  shop." 

As  soon  as  the  cheroots  were  lit,  Mellish  spoke 


The  Germ  Destroyer        117 

like  a  man  ;  beginning  with  his  cholera-theory, 
reviewing  his  fifteen  years'  "  scientific  labors,"  the 
machinations  of  the  "  Simla  Ring,"  and  the  ex- 
cellence of  his  Fumigatory,  while  the  Viceroy 
watched  him  between  half-shut  eyes  and  thought : 
"  Evidently,  this  is  the  wrong  tiger  ;  but  it  is  an 
original  animal."  Mellish's  hair  was  standing 
on  end  with  excitement,  and  he  stammered.  He 
began  groping  in  his  coat-tails  and,  before  the 
Viceroy  knew  what  was  about  to  happen,  he  had 
tipped  a  bagful  of  his  powder  into  the  big  silver 
ash-tray. 

"J-j-judge  for  yourself,  Sir,"  said  Hellish. 
••  Y*  Excellency  shall  judge  for  yourself!  Abso- 
lutely infallible,  on  my  honor." 

He  plunged  the  lighted  end  of  his  cigar  into 
the  powder,  which  began  to  smoke  like  a  vol- 
cano, and  send  up  fat,  greasy  wreaths  of  copper- 
colored  smoke.  In  five  seconds  the  room  was 
filled  with'a  most  pungent  and  sickening  stench 
— a  reek  that  took  fierce  hold  of  the  trap  of  your 
windpipe  and  shut  it.  The  powder  then  hissed 
and  fizzed,  and  sent  out  blue  and  green  sparks, 
and  the  smoke  rose  till  you  could  neither  see, 
nor  breathe,  nor  gasp.  Mellish,  however,  was 
used  to  it. 

"  Nitrate  of  strontia,"  he  shouted  ;  "  baryta, 
bone-meal  et-cetera!  Thousand  cubic  feet  smoke 
per  cubic  inch.  Not  a  germ  could  live — not  a 
germ,  Y'  Excellency  !  " 

But  His  Excellency  had  fled,  and  was  cough- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  while  all  Peterhoff 
hummed  like  a  hive.  Red  Lancers  came  in,  and 
the  Head  Chaprassi,  who  speaks  English,  came 
in,  and  mace-bearers  came  in,  and  ladies  ran 
downstairs  screaming,  "fire";  for  the  smoke 


n8     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

was  drifting  through  the  house  and  oozing  out  of 
the  windows,  and  bellying  along  the  verandas, 
and  wreathing  and  writhing  across  the  gardens. 
No  one  could  enter  the  room  where  Mellish  was 
lecturing  on  his  Fumigatory,  till  that  unspeak- 
able powder  had  burned  itself  out. 

Then  an  Aide-de-Camp,  who  desired  theV.  C., 
rushed  through  the  rolling  clouds  and  hauled 
Mellish  into  the  hall.  The  Viceroy  was  pros- 
trate with  laughter,  and  could  only  waggle  his 
hands  feebly  at  Mellish,  who  was  shaking  a  fresh 
bagful  of  powder  at  him. 

"  Glorious  !  Glorious  !  "  sobbed  His  Excel- 
lency. "  Not  a  germ,  as  you  justly  observed, 
could  exist  !  I  can  swear  it.  A  magnificent 
success  !  " 

Then  he  laughed  till  the  tears  came,  and 
Wonder,  who  had  caught  the  real  Mellishe 
snorting  on  the  Mall,  entered  and  was  deeply 
shocked  at  the  scene.  But  the  Viceroy  was  de- 
lighted, because  he  saw  that  Wonder  would 
presently  depart.  Mellish  with  the  Fumigatory 
was  also  pleased,  for  he  felt  that  he  had  smashed 
the  Simla  Medical  "  Ring." 

Few  men  could  tell  a  story  like  His  Excellency 
when  he  took  the  trouble,  and  the  account  of 
"  my  dear,  good  Wonder's  friend  with  the 
powder"  went  the  round  of  Simla,  and  flippant 
folk  made  Wonder  unhappy  by  their  remarks. 

But  His  Excellency  told  the  tale  once  too  often 
— for  Wonder.  As  he  meant  to  do.  It  was  at 
a  Seepee  Picnic.  Wonder  was  sitting  just  be- 
hind the  Viceroy. 

"  And  I  really  thought  for  a  moment,"  wound 
up  His  Excellency,  "  that  my  dear,  good  Wonder 


The  Germ  Destroyer        119 

had  hired  an  assassin  to  clear  his  way  to  the 
throne ! " 

Every  one  laughed  ;  but  there  was  a  delicate 
subtinkle  in  the  Viceroy's  tone  which  Wonder 
understood.  He  found  that  his  health  was 
giving  away  ;  and  the  Viceroy  allowed  him  to 
go,  and  presented  him  with  a  flaming  "char- 
acter" for  use  at  Home  among  big  people. 

"  My  fault  entirely,"  said  His  Excellency,  in 
after  seasons,  with  a  twinkling  in  his  eye.  "  My 
inconsistency  must  always  have  been  distasteful 
to  such  a  masterly  man." 


KIDNAPPED. 

There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 

Which,  taken  any  way  you  please,  is  bad, 

And  strands  them  in  forsaken  guts  and  creeks 

No  decent  soul  would  think  of  visiting. 

You  cannot  stop  the  tide ;  but  now  and  then, 

You  may  arrest  some  rash  adventurer 

Who — h'm — will  hardly  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

Vibarfs  Moralities. 

WE  are  a  high-caste  and  enlightened  race, 
and  infant-marriage  is  very  shocking  and  the 
consequences  are  sometimes  peculiar  ;  but, 
nevertheless,  the  Hindu  notion — which  is  the 
Continental  notion,  which  is  the  aboriginal  no- 
tion— of  arranging  marriages  irrespective  of  the 
personal  inclinations  of  the  married,  is  sound. 
Think  for  a  romute,  and  you  will  see  that  it  must 
be  so  ;  unless,  of  course,  you  believe  in  "  affini- 
ties." In  which  case  you  had  better  not  read 
this  tale.  How  can  a  man  who  has  never  mar- 
ried ;  who  cannot  be  trusted  to  pick  up  at  sight 
a  moderately  sound  horse  ;  whose  head  is  hot 
and  upset  with  visions  of  domestic  felicity,  go 
about  the  choosing  of  a  wife  ?  He  cannot  see 
straight  or  think  straight  if  he  tries  ;  and  the 
same  disadvantages  exist  in  the  case  of  a  girl's 
fancies.  But  when  mature,  married  and  discreet 
people  arrange  a  match  between  a  boy  and  a 
girl,  they  do  it  sensibly,  with  a  view  to  the  future, 
and  the  young  couple  live  happily  ever  after- 
wards. As  everybody  knows. 

Properly  speaking,  Government  should  estab- 
lish a  Matrimonial  Department,  efficiently  offi- 

120 


Kidnapped  121 

cered,  with  a  Jury  of  Matrons,  a  Judge  of  the 
Chief  Court,  a  Senior  Chaplain,  and  an  Awful 
Warning,  in  the  shape  of  a  love-match  that  has 
gone  wrong,  chained  to  the  trees  in  the  court- 
yard. All  marriages  should  be  made  through 
the  Department,  which  might  be  subordinate  to 
the  Educational  Department,  under  the  same 
penalty  as  that  attaching  to  the  transfer  of  land 
without  a  stamped  document.  But  Government 
won't  take  suggestions.  It  pretends  that  it  is 
too  busy.  However,  I  will  put  my  notion  on 
record,  and  explain  the  exarriple  that  illustrates 
the  theory. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  good  young 
man — a  first-class  officer  in  his  own  Department 
• — a  man  with  a  career  before  him  and,  possibly, 
a  K.  C.  I.  E.  at  the  end  of  it.  All  his  superiors 
spoke  well  of  him,  because  he  knew  how  to  hold 
his  tongue  and  his  pen  at  the  proper  times. 
There  are  to-day  only  eleven  men  in  India  who 
possess  this  secret  ;  and  they  have  all,  with  one 
exception,  attained  great  honor  and  enormous 
incomes. 

This  good  young  man  was  quiet  and  self-con- 
tained— too  old  for  his  years  by  far.  Which  al- 
ways carries  i':s  own  puu.shment.  Had  a  Sub- 
altern, or  a  Tea-Planter's  Assistant,  or  anybody 
who  enjoys  life  and  has  no  care  for  to-morrow, 
done  what  he  tried  to  do  not  a  soul  would  have 
cared.  But  when  Peythroppe — the  estimable, 
virtuour,  economical,  quiet,  hard-working,  young 
Peythroppe — fell,  there  was  a  flutter  through  five 
Departments. 

The  manner  of  his  fall  was  in  this  way.  He 
met  a  Miss  Castries — d'Castries  it  was  originally, 
but  the  family  dropped  the  d'  for  administrative 


122     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

reasons — and  he  fell  in  love  with  her  even  more 
energetically  than  he  worked.  Understand 
clearly  that  there  was  not  a  breath  of  a  word  to 
be  said  against  Miss  Castries — not  a  shadow  oi 
a  breath.  She  was  good  and  very  lovely — pos- 
sessed what  innocent  people  at  home  call  a 
"Spanish"  complexion,  with  thick  blue-black 
hair  growing  low  down  on  the  forehead,  into  a 
"  widow's  peak,"  and  big  violet  eyes  under  eye- 
brows as  black  and  as  straight  as  the  borders  of 
a  Gazette  Extraordinary,  when  a  big  man  dies. 

But but but .     Well,  she  was  a  -very 

sweet  girl  and  very  pious,  but  for  many  reasons 
she  was  "  impossible."  Quite  so.  All  good 
Mamas  know  what  "impossible"  means.  It  was 
obviously  absurd  that  Peythroppe  should  marry 
her.  The  little  opal-tinted  onyx  at  the  base  of 
her  finger-nails  said  this  as  plainly  as  print. 
Further,  marriage  with  Miss  Castries  meant 
marriage  with  several  other  Castries — Honorary 
Lieutenant  Castries  her  Papa,  Mrs.  Eulalie 
Castries  her  Mama,  and  all  the  ramifications  of 
the  Castries  family,  on  incomes  ranging  from 
Rs.  175  to  Rs.  470  a  month,  and  their  wives  and 
connections  again. 

It  would  have  been  cheaper  for  Peythroppe  to 
have  assaulted  a  Commissioner  with  a  dog-whip, 
or  to  have  burned  the  records  of  a  Deputy  Com- 
missioner's Office,  than  to  have  contracted  an 
alliance  with  the  Castries.  It  would  have 
weighted  his  after-career  less — even  under  a 
Government  which  never  forgets  and  never  for- 
gives. Everybody  saw  this  but  Peythroppe.  He 
was  going  to  marry  Miss  Castries,  he  was — being 
of  age  and  drawing  a  good  income — and  woe 
betide  the  house  that  would  not  afterwards  re- 


Kidnapped  123 

ceive  Mrs.  Virginia  Saulez  Peythroppe  with  the 
deference  due  to  her  husband's  rank.  That  was 
Peythroppe's  ultimatum,  and  any  remonstrance 
drove  him  frantic. 

These  sudden  madnesses  most  afflict  the  sanest 
men.  There  was  a  case  once — but  I  will  tell 
you  of  that  later  on.  You  cannot  account  for 
the  mania,  except  under  a  theory  directly  con- 
tradicting the  one  about  the  Place  wherein  mar- 
riages are  made.  Peythroppe  was  burningly 
anxious  to  put  a  millstone  round  his  neck  at  the 
outset  of  his  career  ;  and  argument  had  not  the 
least  effect  on  him.  He  was  going  to  marry 
Miss  Castries,  and  the  business  was  his  own 
business.  He  would  thank  you  to  keep  your  ad- 
vice to  yourself.  With  a  man  in  this  condition, 
mere  words  only  fix  him  in  his  purpose.  Of 
course  he  cannot  see  that  marriage  out  here 
does  not  concern  the  individual  but  the  Govern- 
ment he  serves. 

Do  you  remember  Mrs.  Hauksbee — the  most 
wonderful  woman  in  India  ?  She  saved  Pluffles 
from  Mrs.  Reiver,  won  Tarrion  his  appointment 
in  the  Foreign  Office,  and  was  defeated  in  open 
field  by  Mrs.  Cusack-Bremmil.  She  heard  of 
the  lamentable  condition  of  Peythroppe,  and  her 
brain  struck  out  the  plan  that  saved  him.  She  had 
the  wisdom  of  the  Serpent,  the  logical  coherence 
of  the  Man,  the  fearlessness  of  the  Child,  and 
the  triple  intuition  of  the  Woman.  Never — no, 
never — as  long  as  a  tonga  buckets  down  the 
Solon  dip,  or  the  couples  goa-riding  at  the  back 
of  Summer  Hill,  will  there  be  such  a  genius  as 
Mrs.  Hauksbee.  She  attended  the  consultation 
of  Three  Men  on  Peythroppe's  case  ;  and  she 


124     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

stood    up  with  the  lash   of  her  riding  whip  be* 
tween  her  lips  and  spake. 

Three  weeks  later,  Peythroppe  dined  with  the 
Three  Men,  and  the  Gazette  of  India  came  in. 
Peythroppe  found  to  his  surprise  that  he  had 
been  gazetted  a  month's  leave.  Don't  ask  me 
how  this  was  managed.  I  believe  firmly  that, 
if  Mrs.  Hauksbee  gave  the  order,  the  whole 
Great  Indian  Administration  would  stand  on 
its  head.  The  Three  Men  had  also  a  month's 
leave  each.  Peythroppe  put  the  Gazette  down 
and  said  bad  words.  Then  there  came  from  the 
compound  the  soft  "  pad-pad "  of  camels — 
"  thieves'  camels,"  the  Bikaneer  breed  that  don't 
bubble  and  howl  when  they  sit  down  and  get 
up. 

After  that,  I  don't  know  \vhat  happened.  This 
much  is  certain.  Peythroppe  disappeared — 
vanished  like  smoke — and  the  long  loot-rest 
chair  in  the  house  of  the  Three  Men  was  broken 
to  splinters.  Also  a  bedstead  departed  from 
one  of  the  bedrooms. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  said  that  Mr.  Peythroppe  was 
shooting  in  Rajputana  with  the  Three  Men  ;  so 
we  were  compelled  to  believe  her. 

At  the  end  of  the  month,  Peythroppe  was 
gazetted  twenty  days'  extension  of  leave  ;  but 
there  was  wrath  and  lamentation  in  the  house  of 
Castries.  The  marriage-clay  had  been  fixed,  but 
the  bridegroom  never  came  :  and  the  D'Silvas, 
Pereiras,  and  Ducketts  lifted  their  voices  and 
mocked  Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries  as  one 
who  had  been  basely  imposed  upon.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  went  to  the  wedding,  and  was  much 
astonished  when  Peythroppe  did  not  appear 


Kidnapped  125 

After  seven  weeks,  Peythroppe  and  the  Three 
Men  returned  from  Rajputana.  Peythroppe  was 
in  hard  tough  condition,  rather  white,  and  more 
self-contained  than  ever. 

One  of  the  Three  Men  had  a  cut  on  his  nose, 
caused  by  the  kick  of  a  gun.  Twelve-bores  kick 
rather  curiously. 

Then  came  Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries, 
seeking  for  the  blood  of  his  perfidious  son-in-law 
to  be.  He  said  things — vulgar  and  "  impossible  * 
things,  which  showed  the  raw  rough  "ranker" 
below  the  "  Honorary,"  and  I  fancy  Pey- 
throppe'seyes  were  opened.  Anyhow,  he  held  his 
peace  till  the  end  ;  when  he  spoke  briefly.  Hon- 
orary Lieutenant  Castries  asked  for  a  "peg" 
before  he  went  away  to  die  or  bring  a  suit  for 
breach  of  promise. 

Miss  Castries  was  a  very  good  girl.  She  said 
that  she  would  have  no  breach  of  promise  suits. 
She  said  that,  if  she  was  not  a  lady,  she  was  re- 
fined enough  to  know  that  ladies  kept  their 
broken  hearts  to  themselves  ;  and,  as  she  ruled 
her  parents,  nothing  happened.  Later  on,  she 
married  a  most  respectable  and  gentlemanly 
person.  He  traveled  for  an  enterprising  firm  in 
Calcutta,  and  was  all  that  a  good  husband  should 
be. 

So  Peythroppe  came  to  his  right  mind  again, 
and  did  much  good  work,  and  was  honored  by 
all  who  knew  him.  One  of  these  days  he  will 
marry;  but  he  will  marry  a  sweet  pink-and-white 
maiden,  on  the  Government  House  List,  with  a 
little  money  and  some  influential  connections, 
as  every  wise  man  should.  And  he  will  never, 
all  his  life,  tell  her  what  happened  during  the 
seven  weeks  of  his  shooting-tour  in  Rajp^'Sana, 


126     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

But  just  think  how  much  trouble  and  expense 
— for  camel-hire  is  not  cheap,  and  those  Bik- 
aneer  brutes  had  to  be  fed  like  humans — might 
have  been  saved  by  a  properly  conducted  Matri- 
monial Department,  under  the  control  of  the 
Director-General  of  Education,  but  correspond- 
ing direct  with  the  Viceroy. 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT 
GOLIGHTLY. 

*  '  I've  forgotten  the  countersign,'  sez  'e. 

" '  Oh  !    You  'ave,  'ave  you  ?  '  sez  I. 

" '  But  I'm  the  Colonel,'  sez  'e. 

"'Oh!  You  are,  are  you?'  sez  I.  'Colonel  nor  no  Colonel; 
you  waits  'ere  till  I'm  relieved,  an'  the  Sarjint  reports  on  your 
ugly  old  mug.  Coop ! '  sez  I. 

"  An'  s'elp  me  soul,  'twas  the  Colonel  after  all !  But  I  was  a 
recruity  then." 

The  Unedited  Autobiography  of  Private  Ortheris. 

IF  there  was  one  thing  on  which  Golightly 
prided  himself  more  than  another,  it  was  looking 
like  "an  Officer  and  a  Gentleman."  He  said  it 
was  for  the  honor  of  the  Service  that  he  had  at- 
tired himself  so  elaborately  ;  but  those  who  knew 
him  best  said  that  it  was  just  personal  vanity. 
There  was  no  harm  about  Golightly — not  an 
ounce.  He  recognized  a  horse  when  he  saw  one, 
and  could  do  more  than  fill  a  cantle.  He  played 
a  very  fair  game  at  billiards,  and  was  a  sound 
man  at  the  whist-table.  Every  one  liked  him  ; 
and  nobody  ever  dreamed  of  seeing  him  hand- 
cuffed on  a  station  platform  as  a  deserter.  But 
this  sad  thing  happened. 

He  was  going  down  from  Dalhousie,  at  the 
end  of  his  leave — riding  down.  He  had  cut  his 
leave  as  fine  as  he  dared,  and  wanted  to  come 
down  in  a  hurry. 

It  was  fairly  warm  at  Dalhousie,  and,  knowing 
what  to  expect  below,  he  descended  in  a  new 
khaki  suit — tight  fitting — of  a  delicate  olive- 
green  ;  a  peacock-blue  tie,  white  collar,  and  a 
snowy  white  solah  helmet.  He  prided  himself 

127 


128     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

on  looking  neat  even  when  he  was  riding  post 
He  did  look  neat,  and  he  was  so  deeply  concerned 
about  his  appearance  before  he  started  that  he 
quite  forgot  to  take  anything  but  some  small 
change  with  him.  He  left  all  his  notes  at  the 
hotel.  His  servants  had  gone  down  the  road 
before  him,  to  be  ready  in  waiting  at  Pathankote 
with  a  change  of  gear.  That  was  what  he 
called  traveling  in  "  light  marching-order."  He 
was  proud  of  his  faculty  of  organization — what 
we  call  bundobust. 

Twenty-two  miles  out  of  Dalhousie  it  began  to 
rain — not  a  mere  hill-shower  but  a  good,  tepid 
monsoonish  downpour.  Golightly  bustled  on, 
wishing  that  he  had  brought  an  umbrella.  The 
dust  on  the  roads  turned  into  mud,  and  the  pony 
mired  a  good  deal.  So  did  Golightly's  khaki 
gaiters.  But  he  kept  on  steadily  and  tried  to 
think  how  pleasant  the  coolth  was. 

His  next  pony  was  rather  a  brute  at  starting, 
and  Golightly's  hands  being  slippery  with  the 
rain,  contrived  to  get  rid  of  Golightly  at  a  cor- 
ner. He  chased  the  animal,  caught  it,  and  went 
ahead  briskly.  The  spill  had  not  improved  his 
clothes  or  his  temper,  and  he  had  lost  one  spur. 
He  kept  the  other  one  employed.  By  the  time 
that  stage  was  ended,  the  pony  had  had  as  much 
exercise  as  he  wanted  and,  in  spite  of  the  rain, 
Golightly  was  sweating  freely.  At  the  end  of 
another  miserable  half-hour,  Golightly  found  the 
world  disappear  before  his  eyes  in  clammy  pulp. 
The  rain  had  turned  the  pith  of  his  huge  and 
snowy  solah-topee  into  an  evil-smelling  dough, 
and  it  had  closed  on  his  head  like  a  half-opened 
mushroom.  Also  the  green  lining  was  begin- 
ning to  run. 


Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly      129 

Golightly  did  not  say  anything  worth  record- 
ing here.  He  tore  off  and  squeezed  up  as  much 
ot  the  brim  as  was  in  his  eyes  and  plowed  on. 
The  back  of  the  helmet  was  Happing  on  his  neck 
and  the  sides  stuck  to  his  ears,  but  the  leather 
band  and  green  lining  kept  things  roughly  to- 
gether, so  that  the  hat  did  not  actually  melt  away 
where  it  flapped. 

Presently,  the  pulp  and  the  green  stuff  made  a 
sort  of  slimy  mildew  which  ran  over  Golightly  in 
several  directions — down  his  back  and  bosom 
for  choice.  The  khaki  color  ran  too — it  was 
really  shockingly  bad  dye — and  sections  of  Go- 
lightly were  brown,  and  patches  were  violet,  and 
contours  were  ochre,  and  streaks  were  ruddy 
red,  and  blotches  were  nearly  white,  according 
to  the  nature  and  peculiarities  of  the  dye.  When 
he  took  out  his  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  face  and 
the  green  of  the  hat-lining  and  the  purple  stuft 
that  had  soaked  through  on  to  his  neck  from  the 
tie  became  thoroughly  mixed,  the  effect  was 
amazing. 

Near  Dhar  the  rain  stopped  and  the  evening 
sun  came  out  and  dried  him  up  slightly.  It  fixed 
the  colors,  too.  Three  miles  from  Pathankote 
the  last  pony  fell  dead  lame,  and  Golightly  was 
forced  to  walk.  He  pushed  on  into  Pathankote 
to  find  his  servants.  He  did  not  know  then  that 
his  khitmatgar  had  stopped  by  the  roadside  to 
get  drunk,  and  would  come  on  the  next  day  say- 
ing that  he  had  sprained  his  ankle.  When  he 
got  into  Pathankote,  he  couldn't  find  his  serv- 
ants, his  boots  were  stiff  and  ropy  with  mud,  and 
there  were  large  quantities  of  dirt  about  his 
body.  The  blue  tie  had  run  as  much  as  the 
khaki.  So  he  took  it  off  with  the  collar  and 


130     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

threw  it  away.  Then  he  said  something  about 
servants  generally  and  tried  to  get  a  peg.  He 
paid  eight  annas  for  the  drink,  and  this  revealed 
to  him  that  he  had  only  six  annas  more  in  his 
pocket — or  in  the  world  as  he  stood  at  that  hour. 

He  went  to  the  Station-Master  to  negotiate  tor 
a  first-class  ticket  to  Khasa,  where  he  was  sta- 
tioned. The  booking-clerk  said  something  to 
the  Station-Master,  the  Station-Master  said  some- 
thing to  the  Telegraph  Clerk,  and  the  three 
looked  at  him  with  curiosity.  They  asked  him 
to  wait  for  half-an-hour,  while  they  telegraphed 
to  Umritsar  for  authority.  So  he  waited  and 
four  constables  came  and  grouped  themselves 
picturesquely  round  him.  Just  as  he  was  pre- 
paring to  ask  them  to  go  away,  the  Station- 
Master  said  that  he  would  give  the  Sahib  a  ticket 
to  Umritsar,  if  the  Sahib  would  kindly  come 
inside  the  booking-office.  Golightly  stepped  in- 
side, and  the  next  thing  he  knew  was  that  a  con- 
stable was  attached  to  each  of  his  legs  and  arms, 
while  the  Station-Master  was  trying  to  cram  a 
mail-bag  over  his  head. 

There  was  a  very  fair  scuffle  all  round  the 
booking-office,  and  Golightly  received  a  nasty 
cut  over  his  eye  through  falling  against  a  table. 
But  the  constables  were  too  much  for  him,  and 
they  and  the  Station-Master  handcuffed  him  se- 
curely. As  soon  as  the  mail-bag  was  slipped,  he 
began  expressing  his  opinions,  and  the  head- 
constable  said  : — "  Without  doubt  this  is  the 
soldier-Englishman  we  required.  Listen  to  the 
abuse  ! "  Then  Golightly  asked  the  Station- 
Master  what  the  this  and  the  that  the  proceed- 
ings meant.  The  Station-Master  told  him  he 
was  "  Private  John  Binkleof  the Regiment, 


Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly      131 

5  ft.  9  in.,  fair  hair,  gray  eyes,  and  a  dissipated 
appearance,  no  marks  on  the  body,"  who  had 
deserted  a  fortnight  ago.  Golightly  began  ex- 
plaining at  great  length  :  and  the  more  he  ex- 
plained the  less  the  Station-Master  believed  him. 
He  said  that  no  Lieutenant  could  look  such  a 
ruffian  as  did  Golightly,  and  that  his  instructions 
were  to  send  his  capture  under  proper  escort  to 
Umritsar.  Golightly  was  feeling  very  damp 
and  uncomfortable,  and  the  language  he  used 
was  not  fit  for  publication,  even  in  an  expurgated 
form.  The  four  constables  saw  him  safe  to  Um- 
ritsar in  an  "  intermediate  "  compartment,  and 
he  spent  the  four-hour  journey  in  abusing  them 
as  fluently  as  his  knowledge  of  the  vernaculars 
allowed. 

At  Umritsar  he  was  bundled  out  on  the  plat- 
form into  the  arms  of  a  Corporal  and  two  men 

of  the Regiment.  Golightly  drew  himself  up 

and  tried  to  carry  off  matters  jauntily.  He  did 
not  feel  too  jaunty  in  handcuffs,  with  four  con- 
stables behind  him,  and  the  blood  from  the  cut 
on  his  forehead  stiffening  on  his  left  cheek.  The 
Corporal  was  not  jocular  either.  Golightly  got 
as  far  as  : — "  This  is  a  very  absurd  mistake,  my 
men,"  when  the  Corporal  told  him  to  "stow  his 
lip  "  and  come  along.  Golightly  did  not  want 
to  come  along.  He  desired  to  stop  and  explain. 
He  explained  very  well  indeed,  until  the  Corporal 
cut  in  with  : — "  You  a  orficer  !  It's  the  like  o1 you 
as  brings  disgrace  on  the  likes  of  us.  Bloomin' 
fine  orficer  you  are  !  I  know  your  regiment. 
The  Rogue's  March  is  the  quickstep  where  you 
come  from.  You're  a  black  shame  to  the 
Service." 

Golightly  kept  his  temper,  and  began  explain- 


132     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

ing  all  over  again  from  the  beginning.  Then  he 
was  marched  out  of  the  rain  into  the  refresh- 
ment-room and  told  not  to  make  a  qualified  fool 
of  himself.  The  men  were  going  to  run  him  up 
to  Fort  Govindghar.  And  "  running  up"  is  a 
performance  almost  as  undignified  as  the  Frog 
March. 

Golightly  was  nearly  hysterical  with  rage  and 
the  chill  and  the  mistake  and  the  handcuffs  and 
the  headache  that  the  cut  on  his  forehead  had 
given  him.  He  really  laid  himself  out  to  ex- 
press what  was  in  his  mind.  When  he  had 
quite  finished  and  his  throat  was  feeling  dry, 
one  of  the  men  said  : — "  I've  "card  a  lew  beggars 
in  the  click  blind,  stiff  and  crack  on  a  bit ;  but 
I've  never  "card  anyone  to  touch  this  ere  '  orfi- 
cer.' "  They  were  not  angry  with  him.  They 
rather  admired  him.  They  had  some  beer  at 
the  refreshment-room,  and  offered  Golightly 
some  too,  because  he  had  "swore  won'erful." 
They  asked  him  to  tell  them  all  about  the  .adven- 
tures of  Private  John  Binkle  while  he  was  loose 
on  the  country-side  ;  and  that  made  Golightly 
wilder  than  ever.  If  he  had  kept  his  wits  about 
him  he  would  have  kept  quiet  until  an  officer 
came  ;  but  he  attempted  to  run. 

Now  the  butt  of  a  Martini  in  the  small  of  your 
back  hurts  a  great  deal,  and  rotten,  rain-soaked 
khaki  tears  easily  when  two  men  are  yerking  at 
your  collar. 

Golightly  rose  from  the  floor  feeling  very  sick 
and  giddy,  with  his  shirt  ripped  open  all  down 
his  breast  and  nearly  all  down  his  back.  He 
yielded  to  his  luck,  and  at  that  point  the  down- 
train  from  Lahore  came  in  carrying  one  of 
Golightly's  Majors. 


Arrest  of  Lieutenant  Golightly      133 

This  is  the  Major's  evidence  in  full : — 
«'  There  was  the  sound  of  a  scuffle  in  the  sec- 
ond-class refreshment-room,  so  I  went  in  and 
saw  the  most  villainous  loafer  that  I  ever  set 
eyes  on.  His  boots  and  breeches  were  plastered 
with  mud  and  beer-stains.  He  wore  a  muddy- 
white  dunghill  sort  of  thing  on  his  head,  and  it 
hung  down  in  slips  on  his  shoulders  which  were 
a  good  deal  scratched.  He  was  half  in  and  half 
out  of  a  shirt  as  nearly  in  two  pieces  as  it  could 
be,  and  he  was  begging  the  guard  to  look  at  the 
name  on  the  tail  of  it.  As  he  had  rucked  the 
shirt  all  over  his  head,  I  couldn't  at  first  see  who 
he  was,  but  I  fancied  that  he  was  a  man  in  the 
first  stage  of  D.  T.  from  the  way  he  swore  while 
he  wrestled  with  his  rags  When  he  turned 
round,  and  I  had  made  allowances  for  a  lump 
as  big  as  a  pork-pie  over  one  eye,  and  some 
green  war-paint  on  the  face,  and  some  violet 
stripes  round  the  neck,  I  saw  that  it  was  Go- 
lightly.  He  was  very  glad  to  see  me,''  said  the 
Major,  "  and  he  hoped  I  would  not  tell  the  Mess 
about  it.  /didn't,  but  you  can,  if  you  like,  now 
that  Golightly  has  gone  Home." 

Golightly  spent  the  greater  part  of  that  sum- 
mer in  trying  to  get  the  Corporal  and  the  two 
soldiers  tried  by  Court-Martial  for  arresting  an 
"  officer  and  a  gentleman."  They  were,  of  course, 
very  sorry  for  their  error.  But  the  tale  leaked 
into  the  regimental  canteen,  and  thence  ran 
about  the  Province. 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO. 

A  stone's  throw  out  on  either  hand 
From  that  well-ordered  road  we  tread, 

And  all  the  world  is  wild  and  strange  ; 
Churel  and  ghoul  and  Djinn  and  sprite 
Shall  bear  us  company  to-night, 
For  we  have  reached  the  Oldest  Land 

Wherein  the  Powers  of  Darkness  range. 

Front  the  Dusk  to  the  Dawn. 

THE  house  of  Suddhoo,  near  the  Taksali  Gate, 
is  two  storied,  with  four  carved  windows  of  old 
brown  wood,  and  a  flat  roof.  You  may  recog- 
nize it  by  five  red  hand-prints  arranged  like  the 
Five  of  Diamonds  on  the  whitewash  between  the 
upper  windows.  Bhagwan  Dass,  the  bunnia, 
and  a  man  who  says  he  gets  his  living  by  seal- 
cutting  live  in  the  lower  story  with  a  troop  of 
wives,  servants,  friends,  and  retainers.  The  two 
upper  rooms  used  to  be  occupied  by  Janoo  and 
Azizun  and  a  little  black-and-tan  terrier  that 
was  stolen  from  an  Englishman's  house  and 
given  to  Janoo  by  a  soldier.  To-day,  only  Janoo 
lives  in  the  upper  rooms.  Suddhoo  sleeps  on 
the  roof  generally,  except  when  he  sleeps  in  the 
street.  He  used  to  go  to  Peshawar  in  the  cold 
weather  to  visit  his  son,  who  sells  curiosities 
near  the  Edwardes'  Gate,  and  then  he  slept  un- 
der a  real  mud  roof.  Suddhoo  is  a  great  friend 
of  mine,  because  his  cousin  had  a  son  who  se- 
cured, thanks  to  my  recommendation,  the  post 
of  head-messenger  to  a  big  firm  in  the  Station. 
Suddhoo  says  that  God  will  make  me  a  Lieuten- 
ant-Governor  one  of  these  days.  I  daresay  his 
134 


In  the  House  of  Suddhoo     135 

prophecy  will  come  true.  He  is  very,  very  old, 
with  white  hair  and  no  teeth  worth  showing, 
and  he  has  outlived  his  wits — outlived  nearly 
everything  except  his  fondness  for  his  son  at 
Peshawar.  Janoo  and  Azizun  are  Kashmiris, 
Ladies  of  the  City,  and  theirs  was  an  ancient  and 
more  or  less  honorable  profession  ;  but  Azizun 
has  since  married  a  medical  student  from  the 
North-West  and  has  settled  down  to  a  most  re- 
spectable life  somewhere  near  Bareilly.  Bhag- 
wan  Dass  is  an  extortionate  and  an  adulterator. 
He  is  very  rich.  The  man  who  is  supposed  to 
get  his  living  by  seal-cutting  pretends  to  be  very 
poor.  This  lets  you  know  as  much  as  is  neces- 
sary of  the  four  principal  tenants  in  the  house 
of  Suddhoo.  Then  there  is  Me,  of  course  ;  but 
I  am  only  the  chorus  that  comes  in  at  the  end  to 
explain  things.  So  I  do  not  count. 

Suddhoo  was  not  clever.  The  man  who  pre- 
tended to  cut  seals  was  the  cleverest  of  them  all 
— Bhagwan  Dass  only  knew  how  to  lie — except 
Janoo.  She  was  also  beautiful,  but  that  was  her 
own  affair. 

Suddhoo's  son  at  Peshawar  was  attacked  by 
pleurisy,  and  old  Suddhoo  was  troubled.  The 
seal-cutter  man  heard  of  Suddhoo's  anxiety  and 
made  capital  out  of  it.  He  was  abreast  of  the 
times.  He  got  a  friend  in  Peshawar  to  telegraph 
daily  accounts  of  the  son's  health.  And  here 
the  story  begins. 

Suddhoo's  cousin's  son  told  me,  one  evening, 
that  Suddhoo  wanted  to  see  me  ;  that  he  was  too 
old  and  feeble  to  come  personally,  and  that  I 
should  be  conferring  an  everlasting  honor  on  the 
House  of  Suddhoo  if  I  went  to  him.  I  went  ;  but 
I  think,  seeing  how  well-off  Suddhoo  was  then, 


136     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

that  he  might  have  sent  something  better  than 
an  ekka,  which  jolted  fearfully,  to  haul  out  a 
future  Lieutenant-Governor  to  the  City  on  a 
muggy  April  evening.  The  ekka  did  not  run 
quickly.  It  was  full  dark  when  we  pulled  up 
opposite  the  door  of  Ranjit  Singh's  Tomb  near 
the  main  gate  of  the  Fort.  Here  was  Suddhoo 
and  he  said  that,  by  reason  of  my  condescension, 
it  was  absolutely  certain  that  I  should  become 
a  Lieutenant-Governor  while  my  hair  was  yet 
black.  Then  we  talked  about  the  weather  and 
the  state  of  my  health,  and  the  wheat  crops,  for 
fifteen  minutes,  in  the  Huzuri  Bagh,  under  the 
stars. 

Suddhoo  came  to  the  point  at  last.  He  said 
Janoo  had  told  him  that  there  was  an  order  of 
the  Sirkar  against  magic,  because  it  was  feared 
that  magic  might  one  day  kill  the  Empress  of 
India.  I  didn't  know  anything  about  the  state 
of  the  law  ;  but  I  fancied  that  something  interest- 
ing was  going  to  happen.  I  said  that  so  far 
from  magic  being  discouraged  by  the  Govern- 
ment it  was  highly  commended.  The  greatest 
officials  of  the  State  practised  it  themselves.  (If 
the  Financial  Statement  isn't  magic,  I  don't  know 
what  is.)  Then,  to  encourage  him  further,  I  said 
that,  if  there  was  any  jadoo  afoot,  I  had  not  the 
least  objection  to  giving  it  my  countenance  and 
sanction,  and  to  seeing  that  it  was  clean  jadoo — 
white  magic,  as  distinguished  from  the  unclean 
jadoo  which  kills  folk.  It  took  a  long  time  be- 
fore Suddhoo  admitted  that  this  was  just  what 
he  had  asked  me  to  come  for.  Then  he  told  me, 
in  jerks  and  quavers,  that  the  man  who  said  he 
cut  seals  was  a  sorcerer  of  the  cleanest  kind  ; 
that  every  day  he  gave  Suddhoo  news  of  the  sick 


In  the  House  of  Suddhoo     137 

son  in  Peshawar  more  quickly  than  the  lightning 
could  fly,  and  that  this  news  was  always  corrob- 
orated by  the  letters.  Further,  that  he  had  told 
Suddhoo  how  a  great  danger  was  threatening 
his  son,  which  could  be  removed  by  clean  jadoo  ; 
and,  of  course,  heavy  payment.  I  began  to  see 
exactly  how  the  land  lay,  and  told  Suddhoo  that 
/also  understood  a  little  jadoo  in  the  Western 
line,  and  would  go  to  his  house  to  see  that  every- 
thing was  done  decently  and  in  order.  We  set 
off  together;  and  on  the  way  Suddhoo  told  me 
that  he  had  paid  the  seal-cutter  between  one  hun- 
dred and  two  hundred  rupees  already  ;  and  the 
jadoo  of  that  night  would  cost  two  hundred  more. 
Which  was  cheap,  he  said,  considering  the  great- 
ness of  his  son's  danger  ;  but  I  do  not  think  he 
meant  it. 

The  lights  were  all  cloaked  in  the  front  of  the 
house  when  we  arrived.  I  could  hear  awful 
noises  from  behind  the  seal-cutter's  shop-front,  as 
it  some  one  were  groaning  his  soul  out.  Suddhoo 
shook  all  over,  and  while  we  groped  our  way 
upstairs  told  me  that  the  jadoo  had  begun.  Janoo 
and  Azizun  met  us  at  the  stair-head,  and  told  us 
that  the  jadoo-\vor\s.  was  coming  off  in  their 
rooms,  because  there  was  more  space  there. 
Janoo  is  a  lady  of  a  freethinking  turn  of  mind. 
She  whispered  that  the  jadoo  was  an  invention  to 
get  money  out  of  Suddhoo,  and  that  the  seal- 
cutter  would  go  to  a  hot  place  when  he  died. 
Suddhoo  was  nearly  crying  with  fear  and  old 
age.  He  kept  walking  up  and  down  the  room  in 
the  half  light,  repeating  his  son's  name  over  and 
over  again,  and  asking  Azizun  if  the  .seal-cutter 
ought  not  to  make  a  reduction  in  the  case  of  his 
own  landlord.  Janoo  pulled  me  over  to  the 


138     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

shadow  in  the  recess  of  the  carved  bow-windows. 
The  boards  were  up,  and  the  rooms  were  only 
lit  by  one  tiny  oil-lamp.  There  was  no  chance 
of  my  being  seen  if  I  stayed  still. 

Presently,  the  groans  below  ceased,  and  we 
heard  steps  on  the  staircase.  That  was  the  seal- 
cutter.  He  stopped  outside  the  door  as  the  ter- 
rier barked  and  Azizun  fumbled  at  the  chain,  and 
he  told  Suddhoo  to  blow  out  the  lamp.  This  left 
the  place  in  jet  darkness,  except  for  the  red  glow 
Irom  the  two  huqas  that  belonged  to  Janoo  and 
Azizun.  The  seal-cutter  came  in,  and  I  heard 
Sudhoo  throw  himself  down  on  the  floor  and 
groan.  Azizun  caught  her  breath,  and  Janoo 
backed  on  to  one  of  the  beds  with  a  shudder. 
There  was  a  clink  of  something  metallic,  and 
then  shot  up  a  pale  blue-green  flame  near  the 
ground.  The  light  was  just  enough  to  show 
Azizun,  pressed  against  one  corner  of  the  room 
with  the  terrier  between  her  knees  ;  Janoo,  with 
her  hands  clasped,  leaning  forward  as  she  sat  on 
the  bed  ;  Suddhoo,  face  down,  quivering,  and  the 
seal-cutter. 

I  hope  I  may  never  see  another  man  like  that 
seal-cutter.  He  was  stripped  to  the  waist,  with 
a  wreath  ofwhite  jasmine  as  thick  as  my  wrist 
round  his  forehead,  a  salmon-colored  loin-cloth 
round  his  middle,  and  a  steel  bangle  on  each 
ankle.  This  was  not  awe-inspiring.  It  was  the 
face  of  the  man  that  turned  me  cold.  It  was 
blue-gray  in  the  first  place.  In  the  second,  the 
eyes  were  rolled  back  till  you  could  only  see  the 
whites  of  them  ;  and,  in  the  third,  the  face  was 
the  face  of  a  demon — a  ghoul — anything  you 
please  except  of  the  sleek,  oily  old  ruffian  who 
sat  in  the  daytime  over  his  turning-lathe  down- 


In  the  House  of  Suddhoo     139 

stairs.  He  was  lying  on  his  stomach  with  his 
arms  turned  and  crossed  behind  him,  as  if  he  had 
been  thrown  down  pinioned.  His  head  and  neck 
were  the  only  parts  of  him  off  the  floor.  They 
were  nearly  at  right  angles  to  the  body,  like  the 
head  of  a  cobra  at  spring.  It  was  ghastly.  In 
the  center  of  the  room,  on  the  bare  earth  floor, 
stood  a  big,  deep,  brass  basin,  with  a  pale  blue- 
green  light  floating  in  the  center  like  a  night- 
light.  Round  that  basin  the  man  on  the  floor 
wriggled  himself  three  times.  How  he  did  it  I 
do  not  know.  I  could  see  the  muscles  ripple 
along  his  spine  and  fall  smooth  again  ;  but  I 
could  not  see  any  other  motion.  The  head 
seemed  the  only  thing  alive  about  him,  except 
that  slow  curl  and  uncurl  of  the  laboring  back- 
muscles.  Janoo  from  the  bed  was  breathing 
seventy  to  the  minute  ;  Azizun  held  her  hands 
before  her  eyes  ;  and  old  Suddhoo,  fingering  at 
the  dirt  that  had  got  into  his  white  beard,  was 
crying  to  himself.  The  horror  of  it  was  that  the 
creeping,  crawly  thing  made  no  sound — only 
crawled  !  And,  remember,  this  lasted  for  ten 
minutes,  while  the  terrier  whined,  and  Azizun 
shuddered,  and  Janoo  gasped,  and  Suddhoo 
cried. 

I  felt  the  hair  lift  at  the  back  of  my  head,  ».nd 
my  heart  thump  like  a  thermantidote  paddle. 
Luckily,  the  seal-cutter  betrayed  himself  by  his 
most  impressive  trick  and  made  me  calm  again. 
After  he  had  finished  that  unspeakable  triple 
crawl,  he  stretched  his  head  away  from  the  floor 
as  high  as  he  could,  and  sent  out  a  jet  of  fire 
from  his  nostrils.  Now  I  knew  how  fire-spouting 
is  done — 1  can  do  it  myself — so  I  felt  at  ease. 
The  business  was  a  fraud.  If  he  had  only  kept 


140     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

to  that  crawl  without  trying  to  raise  the  effect, 
goodness  knows  what  I  might  not  have  thought. 
Both  the  girls  shrieked  at  the  jet  of  fire  and  the 
head  dropped,  chin-down  on  the  floor  with  a 
thud  ;  the  whole  body  lying  then  like  a  corpse 
with  its  arms  trussed.  There  was  a  pause  of 
five  full  minutes  after  this,  and  the  blue-green 
flame  died  down.  Janoo  stooped  to  settle  one 
of  her  anklets,  while  Azizun  turned  her  face  to 
the  wall  and  took  the  terrier  in  her  arms.  Sud- 
dhoo  put  out  an  arm  mechanically  to  Janoo's 
huqa,  and  she  slid  it  across  the  floor  with  her 
foot.  Directly  above  the  body  and  on  the  wall, 
were  a  couple  of  flaming  portraits,  in  stamped 
paper  frames,  of  the  Queen  and  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  They  looked  down  on  the  performance, 
and,  to  my  thinking,  seemed  to  heighten  the 
grotesqueness  of  it  all. 

Just  when  the  silence  was  getting  unendur- 
able, the  body  turned  over  and  rolled  away  from 
the  basin  to  the  side  of  the  room,  where  it  lay 
stomach-up.  There  was  a  faint  "plop"  from 
the  basin — exactly  like  the  noise  a  fish  makes 
when  it  takes  a  fly — and  the  green  light  in  the 
center  revived. 

I  looked  at  the  basin,  and  saw,  bobbing  in  the 
water  the  dried,  shriveled,  black  head  of  a  na- 
tive baby — open  eyes,  open  mouth  and  shaved 
scalp.  It  was  worse,  being  so  very  sudden,  than 
the  crawling  exhibition.  We  had  no  time  to  say 
anything  before  it  began  to  speak. 

Read  Poe's  account  of  the  voice  that  came 
from  the  mesmerized  dying  man,  and  you  will 
realize  less  than  one-half  of  the  horror  of  that 
head's  voice. 

There  was  an  interval  of  a  second  or  two  be- 


In  the  House  of  Suddhoo     141 

tween  each  word,  and  a  sort  of"  ring,  ring,  ring," 
in  the  note  of  the  voice  like  the  timber  of  a  bell. 
It  pealed  slowly,  as  if  talking  to  itself,  for  several 
minutes  before  I  got  rid  of  my  cold  sweat.  Then 
the  blessed  solution  struck  me.  I  looked  at  the 
body  lying  near  the  doorway,  and  saw,  just 
where  the  hollow  of  the  throat  joins  on  the 
shoulders,  a  muscle  that  had  nothing  to  do  with 
any  man's  regular  breathing,  twitching  away 
steadily.  The  whole  thing  was  a  careful  repro- 
duction of  the  Egyptian  teraphin  that  one  reads 
about  sometimes  ;  and  the  voice  was  as  clever 
and  as  appalling  a  piece  of  ventriloquism  as  one 
could  wish  to  hear.  All  this  time  the  head  was 
"  lip-lip-lapping  "  against  the  side  of  the  basin, 
and  speaking.  It  told  Suddhoo,  on  his  face 
again  whining,  of  his  son's  illness  and  of  the 
state  of  the  illness  up  to  the  evening  of  that  very 
night.  I  always  shall  respect  the  seal-cutter  for 
keeping  so  faithfully  to  the  time  of  the  Peshawar 
telegrams.  It  went  onto  say  that  skilled  doctors 
were  night  and  day  watching  over  the  man's 
life  ;  and  that  he  would  eventually  recover  if  the 
fee  to  the  potent  sorcerer,  whose  servant  was 
the  head  in  the  basin,  were  doubled. 

Here  the  mistake  from  the  artistic  point  of 
view  came  in.  To  ask  for  twice  your  stipulated 
fee  in  a  voice  that  Lazarus  might  have  used 
when  he  rose  from  the  dead,  is  absurd.  Janoo, 
who  is  really  a  woman  of  masculine  intellect, 
saw  this  as  quickly  as  I  did.  I  heard  her  say 
«'  Ash  nahin .'  Fareib!"  scornfully  under  her 
breath  ;  and  just  as  she  said  so,  the  light  in  the 
basin  died  out,  the  head  stopped  talking,  and  we 
heard  the  room  door  creak  on  its  hinges.  Then 
Janoo  struck  a  match,  lit  the  lamp,  and  we  saw 


142     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

that  head,  basin,  and  seal-cutter  were  gone 
Suddhoo  was  wringing  his  hands  and  explaining 
to  any  one  who  cared  to  listen,  that,  if  his  chance? 
of  eternal  salvation  depended  on  it,  he  could 
not  raise  another  two  hundred  rupees.  Azizun 
was  nearly  in  hysterics  in  the  corner ;  while 
Janoo  sat  down  composedly  on  one  of  the  beds 
to  discuss  the  probabilities  of  the  whole  thing 
being  a  bunao,  or  "  make-up." 

I  explained  as  much  as  I  knew  of  the  seal- 
cutter's  way  of  jadoo  ;  but  her  argument  was 
much  more  simple  : — "  The  magic  that  is  always 
demanding  gifts  is  no  true  magic,"  said  she 
"  My  mother  told  me  that  the  only  potent  love 
spells  are  those  which  are  told  you  for  love. 
This  seal-cutter  man  is  a  liar  and  a  devil.  I 
dare  not  tell,  do  anything,  or  get  anything  done, 
because  I  am  in  debt  to  Bhagwan  Dass  the  bun- 
nia  for  two  gold  rings  and  a  heavy  anklet.  I 
must  get  my  food  from  his  shop.  The  seal-cutter 
is  the  friend  of  Bhagwan  Dass,  and  he  would 
poison  my  food.  A  tool's  jadoo  has  been  going 
on  for  ten  days,  and  has  cost  Suddhoo  many 
rupees  each  night.  The  seal-cutter  used  black 
hens  and  lemons  and  mantras  before.  He  never 
showed  us  anything  like  this  till  to-night.  Azizun 
is  a  fool,  and  will  be  a  pur  dahnashin  soon. 
Suddhoo  has  lost  his  strength  and  his  wits.  See 
now  !  I  had  hoped  to  get  from  Suddhoo  many 
rupees  while  he  lived,  and  many  more  after  his 
death  ;  and  behold,  he  is  spending  everything  on 
that  offspring  oi  a  devil  and  a  she-ass,  the  seal- 
cutter  !  " 

Here  I  said:— "But  what  induced  Suddhoo 
to  drag  me  into  the  business  ?  Ot  course  I  can 
speak  to  the  seal-cutter,  and  he  shall  refund. 


In  the  House  of  Suddhoo     143 

The  whole  thing  is  child's  talk — shame — and 
senseless." 

"  Suddhoo  is  an  old  child,"  said  Janoo.  "  He 
has  lived  on  the  roofs  these  seventy  years  and  is 
as  senseless  as  a  milch-goat.  He  brought  you 
here  to  assure  himself  that  he  was  not  breaking 
any  law  of  the  Sirfcar,  whose  salt  he  ate  many 
years  ago.  He  worships  the  dust  off  the  feet  of 
the  seal-cutter,  and  that  cow-devourer  has  for- 
bidden him  to  go  and  see  his  son.  What  does 
Suddhoo  know  of  your  laws  or  the  lightning- 
post  ?  I  have  to  watch  his  money  going  day  by 
day  to  that  lying  beast  below." 

Janoo  stamped  her  foot  on  the  floor  and  nearly 
cried  with  vexation  j  while  Suddhoo  was  whim- 
pering under  a  blanket  in  the  corner,  and  Azizun 
was  trying  to  guide  the  pipe-stem  to  his  foolish 
old  mouth. 

Now  the  case  stands  thus.  Unthinkingly,  I 
have  laid  myself  open  to  the  charge  of  aiding 
and  abetting  the  seal-cutter  in  obtaining  money 
under  false  pretences,  which  is  forbidden  by 
Section  420  of  the  Indian  Penal  Code.  I  am 
helpless  in  the  matter  for  these  reasons,  I  cannot 
inform  the  Police.  What  witnesses  would  sup- 
port my  statements  ?  Janoo  refuses  flatly,  and 
Azizun,  is  a  veiled  woman  somewhere  near 
Bareilly — lost  in  this  big  India  of  ours.  I  dare 
not  again  take  the  law  into  my  own  hands,  and 
speak  to  the  seal-cutter ;  lor  certain  am  I  that, 
not  only  would  Suddhoo  disbelieve  me,  but  this 
step  would  end  in  the  poisoning  of  Janoo,  who  is 
bound  hand  and  foot  by  her  debt  to  the  bunnia. 
Suddhoo  is  an  old  dotard  ;  and  whenever  we 
meet  mumbles  my  idiotic  joke  that  the  Sirkat 


144     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

rather  patronizes  the  Black  Art  than  otherwise. 
His  son  is  well  now  ;  but  Suddhoo  is  completely 
under  the  influence  of  the  seal-cutter,  by  whose 
advice  he  regulates  the  affairs  of  his  life.  Janoo 
watches  daily  the  money  that  she  hoped  to 
wheedle  out  of  Suddhoo  taken  by  the  seal-cutter, 
and  becomes  daily  more  furious  and  sullen. 

She  will  never  tell,  because  she  dare  not  ;  but, 
unless  something  happens  to  prevent  her,  I  am 
afraid  that  the  seal-cutter  will  die  of  cholera — 
the  white  arsenic  kind — about  the  middle  oi 
May.  And  thus  I  shall  have  to  be  privy  to  a 
murder  in  the  house  of  Suddhoo. 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE. 

Cry  "  Murder !  "  in  the  market-place,  and  each 

Will  turn  upon  his  neighbor  anxious  eyes 

That  ask :— "  Art  thou  the  man  ? "     We  hunted  Cain, 

Some  centuries  ago,  across  the  world, 

That  bred  the  fear  our  own  misdeeds  maintain 

To-day. 

Vibarfs  Moralities, 

SHAKESPEARE  says  something  about  worms, 
or  it  may  be  giants  or  beetles,  turning  if  you 
tread  on  them  too  severely.  The  safest  plan  is 
never  to  tread  on  a  worm — not  even  on  the  last 
new  subaltern  from  Home,  with  his  buttons 
hardly  out  of  their  tissue  paper,  and  the  red  of 
sappy  English  beef  in  his  cheeks.  This  is  the 
story  of  the  worm  that  turned.  For  the  sake  of 
brevity,  we  will  call  Henry  Augustus  Ramsay 
Faizanne,."  The  Worm,"  although  he  really  was 
an  exceedingly  pretty  boy,  without  a  hair  on  his 
face,  and  with  a  waist  like  a  girl's,  when  he 
came  out  to  the  Second  "  Shikarris  "  and  was 
made  unhappy  in  several  ways.  The  "  Shikar- 
ris "  are  a  high-caste  regiment,  and  you  must  be 
able  to  do  things  well — play  a  banjo,  or  ride 
more  than  little,  or  sing,  or  act — to  get  on  with 
them. 

The  Worm  did  nothing  except  fall  off  his  pony, 
and  knock  chips  out  of  gate-posts  with  his  trap. 
Even  that  became  monotonous  after  a  time.  He 
objected  to  whist,  cut  the  cloth  at  billiards,  sang 
out  of  tune,  kept  very  much  to  himself,  and  wrote 
to  his  Mamma  and  sisters  at  Home.  Four  of 
these  five  things  were  vices  which  the  "  Shikar- 
ris "  objected  to  and  set  themselves  to  eradicate. 
10  145 


146     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

Every  one  knows  how  subalterns  are,  by  brother- 
subalterns,  softened  and  not  permitted  to  be 
ferocious.  It  is  good  and  wholesome,  and  does 
no  one  any  harm,  unless  tempers  are  lost ;  and 
then  there  is  trouble.  There  was  a  man  once — 
but  that  is  another  story. 

The  "  Shikarris  "  skikarred  The  Worm  very 
much,  and  he  bore  everything  without  winking. 
He  was  so  good  and  so  anxious  to  learn,  and 
flushed  so  pink,  that  his  education  was  cut  short, 
and  he  was  left  to  his  own  devices  by  every  one 
except  the  Senior  Subaltern  who  continued  to 
make  life  a  burden  to  The  Worm.  The  Senior 
Subaltern  meant  no  harm  ;  but  his  chaff  was 
coarse,  and  he  didn't  quite  understand  where 
to  stop.  He  had  been  waiting  too  long  for  his 
Company  ;  and  that  always  sours  a  man.  Also 
he  was  in  love,  which  made  him  worse. 

One  day,  after  he  had  borrowed  The  Worm's 
trap  for  a  lady  who  never  existed,  had  used  it 
himself  all  the  afternoon,  had  sent  a  note  to  The 
Worm,  purporting  to  come  from  the  lady,  and 
was  telling  the  Mess  all  about  it,  The  Worm 
rose  in  his  place  and  said,  in  his  quiet,  lady-like 
voice  : — "  That  was  a  very  pretty  sell  ;  but  I'll 
lay  you  a  month's  pay  to  a  month's  pay  when 
you  get  your  step,  that  I  work  a  sell  on  you  that 
you'll  remember  for  the  rest  of  your  days,  and 
the  Regiment  after  you  when  you're  dead  or 
broke,"  The  Worm  wasn't  angry  in  the  least, 
and  the  rest  of  the  Mess  shouted.  Then  the 
Senior  Subaltern  looked  at  The  Worm  from  the 
boots  upwards,  and  down  again  and  said  : 
"  Done,  Baby."  The  Worm  took  the  rest  of  the 
Mess  to  witness  that  the  bet  had  been  taken, 
and  retired  into  a  book  with  a  sweet  smile. 


His  Wedded  Wife          147 

Two  months  passed,  and  the  Senior  Subaltern 
still  educated  The  Worm,  who  began  to  move 
about  a  little  more  as  the  hot  weather  came  on. 
I  have  said  that  the  Senior  Subaltern  was  in 
love.  The  curious  thing  is  that  a  girl  was  in 
love  with  the  Senior  Subaltern.  Though  the 
Colonel  said  awful  things,  and  the  Majors 
snorted,  and  married  Captains  looked  unuttera- 
ble wisdom,  and  the  juniors  scoffed,  those  two 
were  engaged. 

The  Senior  Subaltern  was  so  pleased  with 
getting  his  Company  and  his  acceptance  at  the 
same  time  that  he  forgot  to  bother  The  Worm. 
The  girl  was  a  pretty  girl,  and  had  money  of  her 
own.  She  does  not  come  into  this  story  at  all. 

One  night,  at  the  beginning  of  the  hot  weather, 
all  the  Mess,  except  The  Worm  who  had  gone  to 
his  own  room  to  write  Home  letters,  were  sitting 
on  the  platform  outside  the  Mess  House.  The 
Band  had  finished  playing,  but  no  one  wanted 
to  go  in.  And  the  Captains'  wives  were  there 
also.  The  folly  of  a  man  in  love  is  unlimited. 
The  Senior  Subaltern  had  been  holding  forth  on 
the  merits  of  the  girl  he  was  engaged  to,  and  the 
ladies  were  purring  approval,  while  the  men 
yawned,  when  there  was  a  rustle  of  skirts  in  the 
dark,  and  a  tired,  faint  voice  lifted  itself. 

"  Where's  my  husband  ?  " 

I  do  not  wish  in  the  least  to  reflect  on  the  mor- 
ality of  the  "  Shikarris  ;  "  but  it  is  on  record  that 
four  men  jumped  up  as  if  they  had  been  shot. 
Three  of  them  were  married  men.  Perhaps  they 
were  afraid  that  their  wives  had  come  from  Home 
unbeknownst.  The  fourth  said  that  he  had  acted 
on  the  impulse  of  the  moment.  He  explained 
this  afterwards. 


148     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

Then  the  voice  cried  : — "  Oh  Lionel  !  "  Lionel 
was  the  Senior  Subaltern's  name.  A  woman 
came  into  the  little  circle  of  light  by  the  candles 
on  the  peg-tables,  stretching  out  her  hands  to  the 
dark  where  the  Senior  Subaltern  was,  and  sob- 
bing. We  rose  to  our  feet,  feeling  that  things 
were  going  to  happen  and  ready  to  believe  the 
worst.  In  this  bad,  small  world  of  ours,  one 
knows  so  little  of  the  life  of  the  next  man — which, 
after  all,  is  entirely  his  own  concern — that  one 
is  not  surprised  when  a  crash  comes.  Anything 
might  turn  up  any  day  for  any  one.  Perhaps  the 
Senior  Subaltern  had  been  trapped  in  his  youth. 
Men  are  crippled  that  way  occasionally.  We 
didn't  know ;  we  wanted  to  hear ;  and  the  Cap- 
tains' wives  were  as  anxious  as  we.  If  he  had 
been  trapped,  he  was  to  be  excused  ;  for  the 
woman  from  nowhere,  in  the  dusty  shoes  and 
gray  traveling  dress,  was  very  lovely,  with  black 
hair  and  great  eyes  full  of  tears.  She  was  tall, 
with  a  fine  figure,  and  her  voice  had  a  running 
sob  in  it  pitiful  to  hear.  As  soon  as  the  Senior 
Subaltern  stood  up,  she  threw  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  and  called  him  "  my  darling,"  and  said 
she  could  not  bear  waiting  alone  in  England,  and 
his  letters  were  so  short  and  cold,  and  she  was 
his  to  the  end  of  the  world,  and  would  he  forgive 
her  ?  This  did  not  sound  quite  like  a  lady's  way 
of  speaking.  It  was  too  demonstrative. 

Things  seemed  black  indeed,  and  the  Captains* 
wives  peered  under  their  eyebrows  at  the  Senior 
Subaltern,  and  the  Colonel's  face  set  like  the 
Day  of  Judgment  framed  in  gray  bristles,  and  no 
one  spoke  for  awhile. 

Next  the  Colonel  said,  very  shortly  : — "  WTell, 
Sir  ? "  and  the  woman  sobbed  afresh.  The 


His  Wedded  Wife          149 

Senior  Subaltern  was  half  choked  with  the  arms 
round  his  neck,  but  he  gasped  out: — "It's  a 
d — d  lie  !  I  never  had  a  wife  in  my  life  ! " 
"  Don't  swear,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Come  into 
the  Mess.  We  must  sift  this  clear  somehow," 
and  he  sighed  to  himself,  for  he  believed  in  his 
"  Shikarris,"  did  the  Colonel. 

We  trooped  into  the  ante-room,  under  the  full 
lights,  and  there  we  saw  how  beautiful  the 
woman  was.  She  stood  up  in  the  middle  of  us 
all,  sometimes  choking  with  crying,  then  hard 
and  proud,  and  then  holding  out  her  arms  to  the 
Senior  Subaltern.  It  was  like  the  fourth  act  ol 
a  tragedy.  She  told  us  how  the  Senior  Subaltern 
had  married  her  when  he  was  Home  on  leave 
eighteen  months  before  ;  and  she  seemed  to  know 
all  that  we  knew,  and  more  too,  of  his  people  and 
his  past  life.  He  was  white  and  ashy  gray, 
trying  now  and  again  to  break  into  the  torrent 
of  her  words  ;  and  we,  noting  how  lovely  she 
was  and  what  a  criminal  he  looked,  esteemed 
him  a  beast  of  the  worst  kind.  We  felt  sorry  for 
him,  though. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  indictment  of  the  Senior 
Subaltern  by  his  wife.  Nor  will  he.  It  was  so 
sudden,  rushing  out  of  the  dark,  unannounced, 
into  our  dull  lives.  The  Captains'  wives  stood 
back  ;  but  their  eyes  were  alight,  and  you  could 
see  that  they  had  already  convicted  and  sen- 
tenced the  Senior  Subaltern.  The  Colonel 
seemed  five  years  older.  One  Major  was  shad- 
ing his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  watching  the 
woman  from  underneath  it.  Another  was  chew- 
ing his  mustache,  and  smiling  quietly  as  if  he 
were  witnessing  a  play.  Full  in  the  open  space 
in  the  center,  by  the  whist-tables,  the  Senior  Sub- 


150     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

altern's  terrier  was  hunting  for  fleas.  I  remem- 
ber all  this  as  clearly  as  though  a  photograph 
were  in  my  hand.  I  remember  the  look  of  hor- 
ror on  the  Senior  Subaltern's  face.  It  was  rather 
like  seeing  a  man  hanged  ;  but  much  more  in- 
teresting. Finally,  the  woman  wound  up  by 
saying  that  the  Senior  Subaltern  carried  a  double 
F.  M.  in  tattoo  on  his  left  shoulder.  We  all 
knew  that,  and  to  our  innocent  minds  it  seemed 
to  clinch  the  matter.  But  one  of  the  Bachelor 
Majors  said  very  politely  : — "  I  presume  that 
your  marriage-certificate  would  be  more  to  the 
purpose  ?  " 

That  roused  the  woman.  She  stood  up  and 
sneered  at  the  Senior  Subaltern  for  a  cur,  and 
abused  the  Major  and  the  Colonel  and  all  the 
rest.  Then  she  wept,  and  then  she  pulled  a 
paper  from  her  breast,  saying  imperially  : — 
"  Take  that !  And  let  my  husband — my  lawfully 
wedded  husband — read  it  aloud — if  he  dare  !  " 

There  was  a  hush,  and  the  men  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes  as  the  Senior  Subaltern  came  for- 
ward in  a  dazed  and  dizzy  way,  and  took  the 
paper.  We  were  wondering,  as  we  stared, 
whether  there  was  anything  against  any  one  of 
us  that  might  turn  up  later  on.  The  Senior 
Subaltern's  throat  was  dry  ;  but,  as  he  ran  his 
eve  over  the  paper,  he  broke  out  into  a  hoarse 
cackle  of  relief,  and  said  to  the  woman  : — "  You 
young  blackguard  !  " 

But  the  woman  had  fled  through  a  door,  and 
on  the  paper  was  written  :— "  This  is  to  certify  that 
I,  The  Worm,  have  paid  in  full  my  debts  to  the 
Senior  Subaltern,  and,  further,  that  the  Senior 
Subaltern  is  my  debtor,  by  agreement  on  the 
23d  of  February,  as  by  the  Mess  attested,  to  the 


His  Wedded  Wife          151 

extent  of  one  month's  Captain's  pay,  in  the  law- 
ful currency  of  the  India  Empire." 

Then  a  deputation  set  off  for  the  Worm's  quar- 
ters and  found  him,  betwixt  and  between,  un- 
lacing his  stays,  with  the  hat,  wig,  serge  dress, 
etc.,  on  the  bed.  He  came  over  as  he  was,  and 
the  "  Shikarris  "  shouted  till  the  Gunners'  Mess 
sent  over  to  know  if  they  might  have  a  share  of 
the  fun.  I  think  we  were  all,  except  the  Colonel 
and  the  Senior  Subaltern,  a  little  disappointed 
that  the  scandal  had  come  to  nothing.  But  that 
is  human  nature.  There  could  be  no  two  words 
about  The  Worm's  acting. — It  leaned  as  near  to 
a  nasty  tragedy  as  anything  this  side  of  a  joke 
can.  When  most  of  the  Subalterns  sat  upon  him 
with  sofa-cushions  to  find  out  why  he  had  not 
said  that  acting  was  his  strong  point,  he  answered 
very  quietly  : — "  I  don't  think  you  ever  asked  me. 
I  used  to  act  at  Home  with  my  sisters."  But  no 
acting  with  girls  could  account  for  The  Worm's 
display  that  night.  Personally,  I  think  it  was  in 
bad  taste.  Besides  being  dangerous.  There  is 
on  sort  ot  use  in  playing  with  fire,  even  for  fun. 

The  "Shikarris"  made  him  President  of  the 
Regimental  Dramatic  Club  ;  and,  when  the 
Senior  Subaltern  paid  up  his  debt,  which  he  did 
at  once,  The  Worm  sank  the  money  in  scenery 
and  dresses.  He  was  a  good  Worm  ;  and  the 
"  Shikarris  "  are  proud  of  him.  The  only  draw- 
back is  that  he  has  been  christened  "  Mrs.  Senior 
Subaltern;"  and,  as  there  are  now  two  Mrs. 
Senior  Subalterns  in  the  Station,  this  is  some- 
times confusing  to  strangers. 

Later  on,  I  will  tell  you  of  a  case  something 
like  this,  but  with  all  the  jest  left  out  and  noth- 
ing in  it  but  real  trouble. 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP. 

While  the  snaffle  holds,  or  the  "  long-neck  "  stings, 
While  the  big  beam  tilts,  or  the  last  bell  rings, 
While  horses  are  horses  to  train  or  to  race, 
Then  women  and  wine  take  a  second  place 

For  me — for  me — 

While  a  short  "  ten-three  " 
Has  a  field  to  squander  or  fence  to  face  ! 

Song  of  the  G.  R. 

THERE  are  more  ways  of  running  a  horse  to 
suit  your  book  than  pulling  his  head  off  in  the 
straight.  Some  men  forget  this.  Understand 
clearly  that  all  racing  is  rotten — as  everything 
connected  with  losing  money  must  be.  Out 
here,  in  addition  to  its  inherent  rottenness,  it 
has  the  merit  of  being  two-thirds  sham  ;  looking 
pretty  on  paper  only.  Every  one  knows  every 
one  else  far  too  well  for  business  purposes. 
How  on  earth  can  you  rack  and  harry  and  post 
a  man  for  his  losings,  when  you  are  fond  of  his 
wife,  and  live  in  the  same  Station  with  him  ? 
He  says,  "on  the  Monday  following,"  "  I  can't 
settle  just  yet."  You  say,  «•  All  right,  old  man," 
and  think  yourself  lucky  if  you  pull  off  nine 
hundred  out  of  a  two-thousand-rupee  debt. 
Anyway  you  look  at  it,  Indian  racing  is  im- 
moral, and  expensively  immoral.  Which  is 
much  worse.  If  a  man  wants  your  money,  he 
ought  to  ask  for  it,  or  send  round  a  subscription 
list,  instead  of  juggling  about  the  country,  with 
an  Australian  larrikin  ;  a  "  brumby,"  with  as 
much  breed  as  the  boy  ;  a  brace  of  chumars  in 
gold-laced  caps  ;  three  or  four  <f££a-ponies  with 
hogged  manes,  and  a  switch-tailed  demirep  ot  a 


The  Broken-Link  Handicap     153 

mare  called  Arab  because  she  has  a  kink  in  her 
flag.  Racing  leads  to  the  shroff  quicker  than 
anything  else.  But  if  you  have  no  conscience 
and  no  sentiments,  and  good  hands,  and  some 
knowledge  of  pace,  and  ten  years'  experience  of 
horses,  and  several  thousand  rupees  a  month,  I 
believe  that  you  can  occasionally  contrive  to  pay 
your  shoeing-bills. 

Did  you  ever  know  Shackles — b.  w.  g.,  15. 
13-8 — coarse,  loose,  mule-like  ears — barrel  as 
long  as  a  gatepost — tough  as  a  telegraph-wire — 
and  the  queerest  brute  that  ever  looked  through 
a  bridle  ?  He  was  of  no  brand,  being  one  of  an 
ear-nicked  mob  taken  into  the  Bucephalus  at 
^4-ioj.  a  head  to  make  up  freight,  and  sold  raw 
and  out  of  condition  at  Calcutta  for  Rs.  275. 
People  who  lost  money  on  him  called  him  a 
"  brumby  ;  "  but  if  ever  any  horse  had  Harpoon's 
shoulders  and  The  Gin's  temper,  Shackles  was 
that  horse.  Two  miles  was  his  own  particular 
distance.  He  trained  himself,  ran  himself, 
and  rode  himself ;  and,  if  his  jockey  insulted 
him  by  giving  him  hints  he  shut  up  at  once 
and  bucked  the  boy  off.  He  objected  to  dicta- 
tion. Two  or  three  of  his  owners  did  not  under- 
stand this,  and  lost  money  in  consequence. 
At  last  he  was  bought  by  a  man  who  discovered 
that,  if  a  race  was  to  be  won,  Shackles,  and 
Shackles  only,  would  win  it  in  his  own  way,  so 
long  as  his  jockey  sat  still.  This  man  had  a  rid- 
ing-boy called  Brunt — a  lad  from  Perth,  West 
Australia — and  he  taught  Brunt  with  a  trainer's 
whip,  the  hardest  thing  a  jockey  can  learn — 
to  sit  still,  to  sit  still,  and  to  keep  on  sitting 
still.  When  Brunt  fairly  grasped  this  truth. 
Shackles  devastated  the  country.  No  weight 


154     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

could  stop  him  at  his  own  distance  ;  and  the 
fame  of  Shackles  spread  from  Ajmir  in  the  South, 
vo  Chedputter  in  the  North.  There  was  no  horse 
like  Shackles,  so  long  as  he  was  allowed  to  do 
his  work  in  his  own  way.  But  he  was  beaten  in 
the  end  ;  and  the  story  of  his  fall  is  enough  to 
make  angels  weep. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  Chedputter  race- 
course, just  before  the  turn  into  the  straight,  the 
*fack  passes  close  to  a  couple  of  old  brick-mounds 
enclosing  a  funnel-shaped  hollow.  The  big  end 
of  the  funnel  is  not  six  feet  from  the  railings  on 
the  cff-side.  The  astounding  peculiarity  of  the 
course  is  that,  if  you  stand  at  one  particular 
place,  about  half  a  mile  away,  inside  the  course, 
and  speak  at  ordinary  pitch,  your  voice  just  hits 
the  funnel  of  the  brick  mounds  and  makes  a  curi- 
ous whining  echo  there.  A  man  discovered  this 
one  morning  by  accident  while  out  training  with 
a  friend.  He  marked  the  place  to  stand  and 
speak  from  with  a  couple  of  bricks,  and  he  kept 
his  knowledge  to  himself.  Every  peculiarity  of 
a  course  is  worth  remembering  in  a  country 
where  rats  play  the  mischief  with  the  elephant- 
litter,  and  Stewards  build  jumps  to  suit  their  own 
stables.  This  man  ran  a  very  fairish  country- 
bred,  a  long,  racking  high  mare  with  the  temper 
of  a  fiend,  and  the  paces  of  an  airy  wandering 
seraph — a  drifty,  glidy  stretch.  The  mare  was, 
as  a  delicate  tribute  to  Mrs.  Reiver,  called  "The 
Lady  Regula  Baddun  " — or  for  short,  Regula 
Baddun. 

Shackles'  jockey,  Brunt,  was  a  quiet-well  be- 
haved boy,  but  his  nerve  had  been  shaken.  He 
began  his  career  by  riding  jump  races  in  Mel- 
bourne, where  a  few  Stewards  want  lynching, 


The  Broken-Link  Handicap     155 

and  was  one  of  the  jockeys  who  came  through 
the  awful  butchery — perhaps  you  will  recollect  it 
— of  the  Maribyrnong  Plate.  The  walls  were 
colonial  ramparts — logs  of  jarrah  spiked  into 
masonry — with  wings  as  strong  as  Church  but- 
tresses. Once  in  his  stride,  a  horse  had  to  jump 
or  fall.  He  couldn't  run  out.  In  the  Maribyr- 
nong Plate,  twelve  horses  were  jammed  at  the 
second  wall.  Red  Hat,  leading,  fell  this  side, 
and  threw  out  the  Glen,  and  the  ruck  came  up 
behind  and  the  space  between  wing  and  wing 
was  one  struggling,  screaming,  kicking  sham- 
bles. Four  jockeys  were  taken  out  dead  ;  three 
were  very  badly  hurt,  and  Brunt  was  among  the 
three.  He  told  the  story  of  the  Maribyrnong 
Plate  sometimes  ;  and  when  he  described  how 
Whalley  on  Red  Hat,  said,  as  the  man  fell  under 
him  : — "  God  ha'  mercy,  I'm  done  for  !  "  and 
how,  next  instant,  Sithee  There  and  White  Otter 
had  crushed  the  life  out  of  poor  Whalley,  and 
the  dust  hid  a  small  hell  of  men  and  horses,  no 
one  marveled  that  Brunt  had  dropped  jump- 
races  and  Australia  together.  Regula  Baddun's 
owner  knew  that  story  by  heart.  Brunt  never 
varied  it  in  the  telling.  He  had  no  education.. 
Shackles  came  to  the  Chedputter  Autumn 
races  one  year,  and  his  owner  walked  about  in- 
sulting the  sportsmen  of  Chedputter  generally, 
till  they  went  to  the  Honorary  Secretary  in  a 
body  and  said  :— "  Appoint  Handicappers,  and 
arrange  a  race  which  shall  break  Shackles  and 
humble  the  pride  of  his  owner."  The  Districts 
rose  against  Shackles  and  sent  up  of  their  best ; 
Ousel  who  was  supposed  to  be  able  to  do  his 
mile  in  1-53  ;  Petard,  the  stud-bred,  trained  by  a 
cavalry  regiment  who  knew  how  to  train  ;  Grin« 


156     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

galet,  the  ewe-lamb  of  the  75th  ;  Bobolink,  the 
pride  of  Peshawar  ;  and  many  others. 

They  called  that  race  The  Broken-Link  Handi- 
cap, because  it  was  to  smash  Shackles  ;  and  the 
handicappers  piled  on  the  weights,  and  the  Fund 
gave  eight  hundred  rupees,  and  the  distance  was 
"  round  the  course  for  all  horses."  Shackles* 
owner  said  : — "  You  can  arrange  the  race  with 
regard  to  Shackles  only.  So  long  as  you  don't 
bury  him  under  weight-cloths,  I  don't  mind." 
"  Regula  Baddun's  owner  said  : — "  I  throw  in 
my  mare  to  fret  Ousel.  Six  furlongs  is  Regula's 
distance,  and  she  will  then  lie  down  and  die. 
So  also  will  Ousel,  for  his  jockey  doesn't  under- 
stand a  waiting  race."  Now,  this  was  a  lie,  for 
Regula  had  been  in  work  for  two  months  at 
Dehra,  and  her  chances  were  good,  always  sup- 
posing that  Shackles  broke  a  blood-vessel — or 
Brunt  moved  on  him. 

The  plunging  in  the  lotteries  was  fine.  They 
filled  eight  thousand-rupee  lotteries  on  the 
Broken-link  Handicap,  and  the  account  in  the 
Pioneer  said  that  "  favoritism  was  divided."  In 
plain  English,  the  various  contingents  were  wild 
on  their  respective  horses  ;  for  the  Handicappers 
had  done  their  work  well.  The  Honorary 
Secretary  shouted  himself  hoarse  through  the 
din  ;  and  the  smoke  of  the  cheroots  were  like  the 
smoke,  and  the  rattling  of  the  dice-boxes  like  the 
rattle  of  small-arm  fire. 

Ten  horses  started — very  level — and  Regula 
Baddun's  owner  cantered  out  on  his  hack  to  a 
place  inside  the  circle  of  the  course,  where  two 
bricks  had  been  thrown.  He  faced  towards  the 
brick-mounds  at  the  lower  end  of  the  course  and 
waited. 


The  Broken-Link  Handicap     157 

The  story  of  the  running  is  in  the  Pioneer. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  mile,  Shackles  crept  out 
of  the  ruck,  well  on  the  outside,  ready  to  get 
round  the  turn,  lay  hold  of  the  bit  and  spin  up 
the  straight  before  the  others  knew  he  had  got 
away.  Brunt  was  sitting  still,  perfectly  happy, 
listening  to  the  "  drum,  drum,  drum "  of  the 
hoofs  behind,  and  knowing  that,  in  about  twenty 
strides,  Shackles  would  draw  one  deep  breath 
and  go  up  the  last  half-mile  like  the  "Flying 
Dutchman."  As  Shackles  went  short  to  take 
the  turn  and  came  abreast  of  the  brick-mound. 
Brunt  heard,  above  the  noise  of  the  wind  in  his 
ears,  a,  Ki 'tuning,  wailing  voice  on  the  offside, 
sa^^ing  ?«  God  ha'  mercy,  I'm  done  for!"  In 
heone  stri  Brunt  saw  the  whole  seething  smash 
d^f  the  Mbyrnong  Plate  before  him,  started  in 
his  sa^^rand  gave  a  yell  of  terror.  The  start 
brought  the  heels  into  Shackles'  side,  and  the 
scream  hurt  Shackles'  feelings.  He  couldn't 
stop  dead  ;  but  he  put  out  his  feet  and  slid  along 
for  fifty  yards,  and  then,  very  gravely  and  judi- 
cially, bucked  off  Brunt — a  shaking,  terror- 
stricken  lump,  while  Regula  Baddun  made  a 
neck-and-neck  race  with  Bobolink  up  the  straight, 
and  won  by  a  short  head — Petard  a  bad  third'. 
Shackles'  owner,  in  the  Stand,  tried  to  think  that 
his  field-glasses  had  gone  wrong.  Regula 
Baddun's  owner,  waiting  by  the  two  bricks,  gave 
one  deep  sigh  of  relief,  and  cantered  back  to  the 
Stand.  He  had  won,  in  lotteries  and  bets,  about 
fifteen  thousand. 

It  was  a  Broken-link  Handicap  with  a  venge- 
ance. It  broke  nearly  all  the  men  concerned, 
and  nearly  broke  the  heart  of  Shackles'  owner. 
He  went  down  to  interview  Brunt.  The  boy 


158     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

lay,  livid  and  gasping  with  fright,  where  he  had 
tumbled  off.  The  sin  of  losing  the  race  never 
seemed  to  strike  him,  All  he  knew  was  that 
Whalley  had  "  called  "  him,  that  the  "  call  "  was 
a  warning  ;  and,  were  he  cut  in  two  for  it,  he 
would  never  get  up  again.  His  nerve  had  gone 
altogether,  and  he  only  asked  his  master  to  give 
him  a  good  thrashing,  and  let  him  go.  He  was 
fit  for  nothing,  he  said.  He  got  his  dismissal, 
and  crept  up  to  the  paddock,  white  as  chalk, 
with  blue  lips,  his  knees  giving  way  under  him. 
People  said  nasty  things  in  the  paddock  ;  but 
Brunt  never  heeded.  He  changed  into  tweeds, 
took  his  stick  and  went  down  the  rojn'  still 
shaking  with  fright,  and  muttering  over  jl  ovdie~;r 
again  : — "  God  ha'  mercy,  I'm  done  for*  To  s 
the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief  hspoke.  sr 
the  truth. 

So  now  you  know  how  the  Broken-link  Handi- 
cap was  run  and  won.  Of  course  you  don't 
believe  it.  You  would  credit  anything  about 
Russia's  designs  on  India,  or  the  recommenda- 
tions of  the  Currency  Commission  ;  but  a  little 
bit  of  sober  fact  is  more  then  you  can  stand. 


BEYOND  THE  PALE. 

"  Love  heeds  not  caste  nor  sleep  a   broken  bed.     I  went  in  search 
of  love  and  lost  myself." 

Hindu  Proverb. 

A  MAN  should,  whatever  happens,  keep  to  his 
own  caste,  race  and  breed.  Let  the  White  go 
to  the  White  and  the  Black  to  the  Black.  Then, 
whatever  trouble  tails  is  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  things — neither  sudden,  alien  nor  unexpected. 

This  is  the  story  of  a  man  who  wilfully  stepped 
beyond  the  safe  limits  of  decent  every-day  society, 
and  paid  for  it  heavily. 

He  knew  too  much  in  the  first  instance  ;  and 
he  saw  too  much  in  the  second.  He  took  too 
deep  an  interest  in  native  life  ;  but  he  will  never 
do  so  again. 

Deep  away  in  the  heart  of  the  City,  behind 
Jitha  Megji's  bustee,  lies  Amir  Nath's  Gully, 
which  ends  in  a  dead-wall  pierced  by  one  grated 
window.  At  the  head  of  the  Gully  is  a  big  cow- 
byre,  and  the  walls  on  either  side  of  the  Gully 
are  without  windows.  Neither  Suchet  Singh  nor 
Gaur  Chanel  approve  of  their  women-folk  looking 
into  the  world,  If  Durga  Charan  had  been  of 
their  opinion,  he  would  have  been  a  happier  man. 
to-day,  and  little  Bisesa  would  have  been  able  to 
knead  her  own  bread.  Her  room  looked  out 
through  the  grated  window  into  the  narrow  dark 
Gully  where  the  sun  never  came  and  where  the 
buffaloes  wallowed  in  the  blue  slime.  She  was 
a  widow,  about  fifteen  years  old,  and  she  prayed 
the  Gods,  day  and  night,  to  send  her  a  lover ; 
for  she  did  not  approve  of  living  alone. 

159 


160     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

One  day,  the  man — Trejago  his  name  was—- 
came into  Amir  Nath's  Gully  on  an  aimless 
wandering  ;  and,  after  he  had  passed  the  buf- 
faloes, stumbled  over  a  big  heap  of  cattle-food. 

Then  he  saw  that  the  Gully  ended  in  a  trap, 
and  heard  a  little  laugh  from  behind  the  grated 
window.  It  was  a  pretty  little  laugh,  and  Tre- 
jago, knowing  that,  for  all  practical  purposes, 
the  old  Arabian  Nights  are  good  guides,  went 
forward  to  the  window,  and  whispered  that  verse 
of  "  The  Love  Song  of  Har  Dyal  "  which  be- 
gins : — 

Can  a  man  stand  upright  in  the  face  of  the  naked 
Sun  ;  or  a  Lover  in  the  Presence  of  his  Beloved  ? 

If  my  feet  fail  me,  O  Heart  of  my  Heart,  am  I  to 
blame,  being  blinded  by  the  glimpse  of  your  beauty? 

There  camet  he  faint  tchinks  of  a  woman's 
bracelets  from  behind  the  grating,  and  a  little 
voice  went  on  with  the  song  at  the  fifth  verse  : — 

Alas  !  alas  !  Can  the  Moon  tell  the  Lotus  of  her 
love  when  the  Gate  of  Heaven  is  shut  and  the  clouds 
gather  for  the  rains  ? 

They  have  taken  my  Beloved,  and  driven  her  with 
the  pack-horses  to  the  North. 

There  are  iron  chains  on  the  feet  that  were  set  on  my 
heart. 

Call  to  the  bowmen  to  make  ready 

The  voice  stopped  suddenly,  and  Trejago 
walked  out  of  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  wondering  who 
in  the  world  could  have  capped  "  The  Love  Song 
of  Har  Dyal  "  so  neatly. 

Next  morning,  as  he  was  driving  to  office,  an 
old  woman  threw  a  packet  into  his  dog-cart.  In 
the  packet  was  the  half  of  a  broken  glass-bangle, 
one  flower  of  the  blood-red  dhak,  a  pinch  oi 


Beyond  the  Pale  161 

bhusa  or  cattle-food,  and  eleven  cardamoms. 
That  packet  was  a  letter — not  a  clumsy  com- 
promising letter,  but  an  innocent  unintelligible 
lover's  epistle. 

Trejago  knew  far  too  much  about  these  things, 
as  I  have  said.  No  Englishman  should  be  able 
to  translate  object-letters.  But  Trejago  spread 
all  the  trifles  on  the  lid  of  his  office-box  and  be- 
gan to  puzzle  them  out. 

A  broken  glass-bangle  stands  for  a  Hindu 
widow  all  India  over ;  because,  when  her  hus- 
band dies,  a  woman's  bracelets  are  broken  on 
her  wrists.  Trejago  saw  the  meaning  of  the 
little  bit  of  the  glass.  The  flower  of  the  dhak 
means  diversely  "  desire,"  "  come,"  "  write,"  or 
"  danger,"  according  to  the  other  things  with  it. 
One  cardamom  means  "jealousy;"  but  when 
any  article  is  duplicated  in  an  object-letter,  it 
loses  its  symbolic  meaning  and  stands  merely 
for  one  of  a  number  indicating  time,  or,  if  in- 
cense, curds,  or  saffron  be  sent  also,  place.  The 
message  ran  then  : — "  A  widow — dhak  flower 
and  bliusa — at  eleven  o'clock."  The  pinch  of 
bhusa  enlightened  Trejago.  He  saw — this  kind 
of  letter  leaves  much  to  instinctive  knowledge—- 
that the  bhusa  referred  to  the  big  heap  of  cattle- 
food  over  which  he  had  fallen  in  Amir  Nath's 
Gully,  and  that  the  message  must  come  from  the 
person  behind  the  grating  ;  she  being  a  widow. 
So  the  message  ran  then  : — "  A  widow,  in  the 
Gully  in  which  is  the  heap  of  bhusa,  desires  you 
to  come  at  eleven  o'clock." 

Trejago  threw  all  the  rubbish  into  the  fire- 
place and  laughed.  He  knew  that  men  in  the 
East  do  not  make  love  under  windows  at  eleven 
in  the  forenoon,  nor  do  women  fix  appointments 
II 


162     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

a  week  in  advance.  So  he  went,  that  very  night 
at  eleven,  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  clad  in  a 
doorka,  which  cloaks  a  man  as  well  as  a  woman. 
Directly  the  gongs  in  the  City  made  the  hour, 
the  little  voice  behind  the  grating  took  up  "  The 
Love  Song  of  Har  Dyal  "  at  the  verse  where  the 
Panthan  girl. calls  upon  Har  Dyal  to  return. 
The  song  is  really  pretty  in  the  Vernacular.  In 
English  you  miss  the  wail  of  it.  It  runs  some- 
thing like  this  :-— 

Alone  upon  the  housetops,  to  the  North 

I  turn  and  watch  the  lightning  in  the  sky, — 

The  glamour  of  thy  footsteps  in  the  North, 
Come  tack  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die  ! 

Below  my  feet  the  still  bazar  is  laid 

Far,  far  below  the  weary  camels  lie, — 
The  camels  and  the  captives  of  thy  raid, 

Come  tack  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die  1 

My  father's  wife  is  old  and  harsh  with  years, 
And  drudge  of  all  my  father's  house  am  I.— 

My  bread  is  sorrow  and  my  drink  is  tears, 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die  ! 

As  the  song  stopped,  Trejago  stepped  up  un- 
der the  grating  and  whispered  : — "  I  am  here." 

Bisesa  was  good  to  look  upon. 

That  night  was  the  beginning  of  many  strange 
things,  and  of  a  double  life  so  wild  that  Trejago 
to-day  sometimes  wonders  if  it  were  not  all  a 
dream.  Bisesa  or  her  old  handmaiden  who  had 
thrown  the  object-letter  had  detached  the  heavy 
grating  from  the  brick-work  of  the  wall;  so  that 
the  window  slid  inside,  leaving  only  a  square  of 
raw  masonry  into  which  an  active  man  might 
climb. 

In  the  clay-time,  Trejago  drove  through  his 
routine  of  office-work,  or  put  on  his  calling- 


Beyond  the  Pale  163 

clothes  and  called  on  the  ladies  of  the  Station  ; 
wondering  how  long  they  would  know  him  if 
they  knew  of  poor  little  Bisesa.  At  night,  when 
all  the  city  was  still,  came  the  walk  under  the 
evil-smelling  boorka,  the  patrol  through  Jitha 
Megji's  bustee,  the  quick  turn  into  Amir  Nath's 
Gully  between  the  sleeping  cattle  and  the  dead 
walls,  and  then,  last  of  all,  Bisesa,  and  the  deep, 
even  breathing  of  the  old  woman  who  slept  out- 
side the  door  of  the  bare  little  room  that  Durga 
Charan  allotted  to  his  sister's  daughter.  Who 
or  what  Durga  Charan  was,  Trejago  never  in- 
quired ;  and  why  in  the  world  he  was  not  dis- 
covered and  knifed  never  occurred  to  him  till 

his  madness  was  over,  and  Bisesa But 

this  comes  later. 

Bisesa  was  an  endless  delight  to  Trejago. 
She  was  as  ignorant  as  a  bird  ;  and  her  distorted 
versions  of  the  rumors  from  the  outside  world 
that  had  reached  her  in  her  room,  amused  Tre- 
jago almost  as  much  as  her  lisping  attempts  to 
pronounce  his  name — "Christopher."  The  first 
syllable  was  always  more  than  she  could  manage, 
and  she  made  funny  little  gestures  with  her  rose- 
leaf  hands,  as  one  throwing  the  name  away,  and 
then,  kneeling  before  Trejago  asked  him,  exactly 
as  an  English  woman  would  do,  if  he  were  sure 
he  loved  her.  Trejago  swore  that  he  loved  her 
more  than  any  one  else  in  the  world.  Which 
was  true. 

After  a  month  of  this  folly,  the  exigencies  of 
his  other  life  compelled  Trejago  to  be  especially 
attentive  to  a  lady  of  his  acquaintance.  You 
may  take  it  for  a  fact  that  anything  of  this  kind 
is  not  only  noticed  and  discussed  by  a  man's 
own  race  but  by  some  hundred  and  fifty  natives 


164     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

as  well.  Trejago  had  to  walk  with  this  lady  and 
talk  to  her  at  the  Band-stand,  and  once  or  twice 
to  drive  with  her  ;  never  for  an  instant  dreaming 
that  this  would  affect  his  dearer  out-of-the-way 
life.  But  the  news  flew,  in  the  usual  mysterious 
fashion,  from  mouth  to  mouth,  till  Bisesa's  duenno 
heard  of  it  and  told  Bisesa.  The  child  was  so 
troubled  that  she  did  the  household  work  evilly, 
and  was  beaten  by  Durga  Charan's  wife  in  con- 
sequence. 

A  week  later,  Bisesa  taxed  Trejago  with  the 
flirtation.  She  understood  no  gradations  and 
spoke  openly.  Trejago  laughed  and  Bisesa 
stamped  her  little  feet — little  feet  light  as  mari- 
gold flowers,  that  could  lie  in  the  palm  of  a  man's 
one  hand. 

Much  that  is  written  about  "  Oriental  passion 
and  impulsiveness  "  is  exaggerated  and  compiled 
at  second-hand,  but  a  little  of  it  is  true  ;  and 
when  an  Englishman  finds  that  little,  it  is  quite 
as  startling  as  any  passion  in  his  own  proper 
life.  Bisesa,  raged  and  stormed,  and  finally 
threatened  to  kill  herself  if  Trejago  did  not  at 
once  drop  the  alien  Memsahib  who  had  come 
between  them.  Trejago  tried  to  explain,  and 
to  show  her  that  she  did  not  understand  these 
things  from  a  Western  standpoint.  Bisesa  drew 
herself  up,  and  said  simply  : — 

"  I  do  not.  I  know  only  this — it  is  not  good 
that  I  should  have  made  you  dearer  than  my 
own  heart  to  me,  Sahib.  You  are  an  English- 
man. I  am  only  a  black  girl — "  she  was  fairer 
than  bar-gold  in  the  Mint, — "  and  the  widow  of 
a  black  man." 

Then  she  sobbed  and  said  :  "  But  on  my  soul 
and  my  Mother's  soul,  I  love  you.  There  shall 


Beyond  the  Pale  165 

no   harm   come   to   you,  whatever  happens   to 
me. 

Trejago  argued  with  the  child,  and  tried  to 
soothe  her,  but  she  seemed  quite  unreasonably 
disturbed.  Nothing  would  satisfy  her  save  that 
all  relations  between  them  should  end.  He  was 
to  go  away  at  once.  And  he  went.  As  he 
dropped  out  at  the  window,  she  kissed  his  fore- 
head twice,  and  he  walked  home  wondering. 

A  week,  and  then  three  weeks,  passed  without 
a  sign  from  Bisesa.  Trejago,  thinking  that  the 
rupture  had  lasted  quite  long  enough,  went  down 
to  Amir  Nath's  Gully  for  the  fifth  time  in  the 
three  weeks,  hoping  that  his  rap  at  the  sill  of  the 
shifting  grating  would  be  answered.  He  was 
not  disappointed. 

There  was  a  young  moon,  and  one  stream  of 
light  fell  down  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  and 
struck  the  grating  which  was  drawn  away  as  he 
knocked.  From  the  black  dark,  Bisesa  held  out 
her  arms  into  the  moonlight.  Both  hands  had 
been  cut  off  at  the  wrists,  and  the  stumps  were 
nearly  healed. 

Then,  as  Bisesa  bowed  her  head  between  her 
arms  and  sobbed,  some  one  in  the  room  grunted 
like  a  wild  beast,  and  something  sharp, — knife, 
sword  or  spear, — thrust  at  Trejago  in  his  boorka. 
The  stroke  missed  his  body,  but  cut  into  one  of 
the  muscles  of  the  groin,  and  he  limped  slightly 
from  the  wound  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 

The  grating  went  into  its  place.  There  was 
no  sign  whatever  from  inside  the  house, — noth- 
ing but  the  moonlight  strip  on  the  high  wall,  and 
the  blackness  of  Amir  Nath's  Gully  behind. 

The  next  thing  Trejago  remembers,  after  rag 
ing  and  shouting  like  a  madman  between  those 


166     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hilf 

pitiless  walls,  is  that  he  found  himself  near  tne 
river  as  the  dawn  was  breaking,  threw  away  his 
booraka  and  went  home  bareheaded. 

What  the  tragedy  was — whether  Bisesa  had, 
in  a  tit  of  causeless  despair,  told  everything,  or 
the  intrigue  had  been  discovered  and  she  tor- 
tured to  tell  ;  whether  Durga  Charan  knew  his 
name  and  what  became  of  Bisesa — Trejago  does 
not  know  to  this  day.  Something  horrible  had 
happened,  and  the  thought  ol  what  it  must  have 
been,  comes  upon  Trejago  in  the  night  now  and 
again,  and  keeps  him  company  till  the  morning. 
One  special  feature  of  the  case  is  that  he  does 
not  know  where  lies  the  front  of  Durga  Charan's 
house.  It  may  open  on  to  a  courtyard  common 
to  two  or  more  houses,  or  it  may  lie  behind  any 
one  of  the  gates  of  Jitha  Megji's  bustee.  Tre- 
jago cannot  tell.  He  cannot  get  Bisesa — poor 
little  Bisesa — back  again.  He  has  lost  her  in 
the  City  where  each  man's  house  is  as  guarded 
and  as  unknowable  as  the  grave  ;  and  the  grat- 
ing that  opens  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully  has  been 
walled  up. 

But  Trejago  pays  his  calls  regularly,  and  is 
reckoned  a  very  decent  sort  of  man. 

There  is  nothing  peculiar  about  him,  except  a 
slight  stiffness,  caused  by  a  riding-strain,  in  the 
tight  leg. 


IN  ERROR. 

They  burnt  a  corpse  upon  the  sand— 

The  light  shone  out  afar  ; 
It  guided  home  the  plunging  boats 

That  beat  from  Zanzibar. 
Spirit  of  Fire,  where'er  Thy  altars  rise, 

Thou  art  Light  of  Guidance  to  our  eyes. 

Sakette  Boat-Song. 

THERE  is  hope  for  a  man  who  gets  publicly 
and  riotously  drunk  more  often  than  he  ought  to 
do  ;  but  there  is  no  hope  for  the  man  who  drinks 
secretly  and  alone  in  his  own  house — the  man 
who  is  never  seen  to  drink. 

This  is  a  rule  ;  so  there  must  be  an  exception 
to  prove  it.  Moriarty's  case  was  that  exception. 

He  was  a  Civil  Engineer,  and  the  Government 
very  kindly,  put  him  quite  by  himself  in  an  out- 
district,  with  nobody  but  natives  to  talk  to  and  a 
great  deal  of  work  to  do.  He  did  his  work  well 
in  the  four  years  he  was  utterly  alone  ;  but  he 
picked  up  the  vice  of  secret  and  solitary  drink- 
ing, and  came  up  out  of  the  wilderness  more  old 
and  worn  and  haggard  than  the  dead-alive  life 
had  any  right  to  make  him.  You  know  the 
saying  that  a  man  who  has  been  alone  in  the 
jungle  for  more  than  a  year  is  never  quite  sane 
all  his  life  after.  People  credited  Moriarty's 
queerness  of  manner  and  moody  ways  to  the  soli- 
tude, and  said  that  it  showed  how  Government 
spoilt  the  futures  of  its  best  men.  Moriarty  had 
built  himself  the  plinth  of  a  very  good  reputation 
in  the  bridge-dam-girder  line.  But  he  knew, 
every  night  of  the  week,  that  he  was  taking  steps 

167 


i68     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

to  undermine  that  reputation  with  L.  L.  L.  and 
"Christopher"  and  little  nips  of  liqueurs,  and 
filth  of  that  kind.  He  had  a  sound  constitution 
and  a  great  brain,  or  else  he  would  have  broken 
down  and  died  like  a  sick  camel  in  the  district, 
as  better  men  have  done  before  him. 

Government  ordered  him  to  Simla  after  he  had 
come  out  of  the  desert ;  and  he  went  up  mean- 
ing to  try  for  a  post  then  vacant.  That  season, 
Mrs.  Reiver — perhaps  you  will  remember  her — 
was  in  the  height  of  her  power,  and  many  men 
lay  under  her  yoke.  Everything  bad  that  could 
be  said  has  already  been  said  about  Mrs.  Reiver, 
in  another  tale.  Moriartywas  heavily-built  and 
handsome,  very  quiet  and  nervously  anxious  to 
please  his  neighbors  when  he  wasn't  sunk  in  a 
brown  study.  He  started  a  good  deal  at  sudden 
noises  or  if  spoken  to  without  warning  ;  and, 
when  you  watched  him  drinking  his  glass  of 
water  at  dinner,  you  could  see  the  hand  shake  a 
little.  But  all  this  was  put  down  to  nervousness, 
and  the  quiet,  steady  "  sip-sip-sip,  fill  and  sip- 
sip-sip,  again,"  that  went  on  in  his  own  room 
when  he  was  by  himself,  was  never  known. 
Which  was  miraculous,  seeing  how  everything 
in  a  man's  private  life  is  public  property  out  here. 

Moriarty  was  drawn,  not  into  Mrs.  Reiver's 
set,  because  they  were  not  his  sort,  but  into  the 
power  of  Mrs.  Reiver,  and  he  fell  down  in  front 
of  her  and  made  a  goddess  of  her.  This  was 
due  to  his  coming  fresh  out  of  the  jungle  to  a 
big  town.  He  could  not  scale  things  properly  or 
see  who  was  what. 

Because  Mrs.  Reiver  was  cold  and  hard,  he 
said  she  was  stately  and  dignified.  Because  she 
had  no  brains,  and  could  not  talk  cleverly,  he 


In  Error  169 

said  she  was  reserved  and  shy.  Mrs.  Reiver 
shy!  Because  she  was  unworthy  of  honor  or 
reverence  from  any  one,  he  reverenced  her  from 
a  distance  and  dowered  her  with  all  the  virtues 
in  the  Bible  and  most  of  those  in  Shakespeare. 

This  big,  dark,  abstracted  man  who  was  so 
nervous  when  a  pony  cantered  behind  him,  used 
to  moon  in  the  train  of  Mrs.  Reiver,  blushing 
with  pleasure  when  she  threw  a  word  or  two  his 
way.  His  admiration  was  strictly  platonic  : 
even  other  women  saw  and  admitted  this.  He 
did  not  move  out  in  Simla,  so  he  heard  nothing; 
against  his  idol :  which  was  satisfactory.  Mrs, 
Reiver  took  no  special  notice  of  him,  beyond  see- 
ing that  he  was  added  to  her  list  of  admirers, 
and  going  for  a  walk  with  him  now  and  then, 
just  to  show  that  he  was  her  property,  claimable 
as  such.  Moriarty  must  have  done  most  oi  the 
talking,  for  Mrs.  Reiver  couldn't  talk  much  to  a 
man  of  his  stamp  ;  and  the  little  she  said  could 
not  have  been  profitable.  What  Moriarty  be- 
lieved in,  as  he  had  good  reason  to,  was  Mrs. 
Reiver's  influence  over  him,  and,  in  that  belief, 
set  himself  seriously  to  try  to  do  away  with  the 
vice  that  only  he  himself  knew  of. 

His  experiences  while  he  was  fighting  with  it 
must  have  been  peculiar,  but  he  never  described 
them.  Sometimes  he  would  hold  off  from  every- 
thing except  water  for  a  week.  Then,  on  a  rainy 
night,  when  no  one  had  asked  him  outto4inner, 
and  there  was  a  big  fire  in  his  room,  and  every- 
thing comfortable,  he  would  sit  down  and  make 
a  big  night  of  it  by  adding  little  nip  to  little  nip, 
planning  big  schemes  of  reformation  meanwhile, 
until  he  threw  himself  on  his  bed  hopelessly 
drunk.  He  suffered  next  morning. 


170     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

One  night,  the  big  crash  came.  He  was 
troubled  in  his  own  mind  over  his  attempts  to 
make  himself  "  worthy  of  the  friendship  "  of  Mrs. 
Reiver.  The  past  ten  days  had  been  very  bad 
ones,  and  the  end  oi  it  all  was  that  he  received 
the  arrears  of  two  and  three  quarter  years  of 
sipping  in  one  attack  oi  delirium  tremens  of  the 
subdued  kind  ;  beginning  with  suicidal  depres- 
sion, going  on  to  fits  and  starts  and  hysteria,  and 
ending  with  downright  raving.  As  he  sat  in  a 
chair  in  front  of  the  fire,  or  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  picking  a  handkerchief  to  pieces,  you 
heard  what  poor  Moriarty  really  thought  ofMrs. 
.Reiver,  for  he  raved  about  her  and  his  own  fall 
for  the  most  part  ;  though  he  raveled  some  P. 
W.  D.  accounts  into  the  same  skein  of  thought. 
He  talked  and  talked,  and  talked  in  a  low  dry 
whisper  to  himself,  and  there  was  no  stopping 
him.  He  seemed  to  know  that  there  was  some- 
thing wrong,  and  twice  tried  to  pull  himself  to- 
gether and  confer  rationally  with  the  Doctor  ; 
but  his  mind  ran  out  of  control  at  once,  and  he 
fell  back  to  a  whisper  and  the  story  of  his 
troubles.  It  is  terrible  to  hear  a  big  man  bab- 
bling like  a  child  of  all  that  a  man  usually  locks 
up,  and  puts  away  in  the  deep  of  his  heart. 
Moriarty  read  out  his  very  soul  for  the  benefit  oi 
anyone  who  was  in  the  room  between  ten-thirty 
that  night  and  two-forty-five  next  morning. 

From  what  he  said,  one  gathered  how  in> 
tnense  an  influence  Mrs.  Reiver  held  over  him, 
and  how  thoroughly  he  felt  for  his  own  lapse, 
His  whisperings  cannot,  of  course,  be  put  clown 
here  ;  but  they  were  very  instructive  as  showing 
the  errors  of  his  estimates. 


In  Error  171 

When  the  trouble  was  over,  and  his  few  ac- 
quaintances were  pitying  him  for  the  bad  attack 
of  jungle-fever  that  had  so  pulled  him  down, 
Moriarty  swore  a  big  oath  to  himself  and  went 
abroad  again  with  Mrs.  Reiver  till  the  end  of 
the  season,  adoring  her  in  a  quiet  and  deferential 
way  as  an  angel  from  heaven.  Later  on  he  took 
to  riding — not  hacking  but  honest  riding — which 
was  good  proof  that  he  was  improving,  and  you 
could  slam  doors  behind  him  without  his  jumping 
to  his  feet  with  a  gasp.  That,  again,  was  hopefui. 

How  he  kept  his  oath,  and  what  it  cost  him 
in  the  beginning  nobody  knows.  He  certainly 
managed  to  compass  the  hardest  thing  that  a  man 
who  has  drunk  heavily  can  do.  He  took  his  peg 
and  wine  at  dinner  ;  but  he  never  drank  alone, 
and  never  let  what  he  drank  have  the  least  hold 
on  him. 

Once  he  told  a  bosom-friend  the  story  of  his 
great  trouble,  and  how  the  "  influence  of  a  pure 
honest  woman,  and  an  angel  as  well  "  had  saved 
him.  When  the  man — startled  at  anything  good 
being  laid  to  Mrs.  Reiver's  door — laughed,  it 
cost  him  Moriarty's  friendship.  Moriarty  who 
is  married  now  to  a  woman  ten  thousand  times 
better  than  Mrs.  Reiver — a  woman  who  believes 
that  there  is  no  man  on  earth  as  good  and  clever 
as  her  husband — will  go  clown  to  his  grave  vow- 
ing and  protesting  that  Mrs.  Reiver  saved  him 
from  ruin  in  both  worlds. 

That  she  knew  anything  of  Moriarty's  weak- 
ness nobody  believed  for  a  moment.  That  she 
would  have  cut  him  dead,  thrown  him  over,  and 
acquainted  all  her  friends  with  her  discovery,  if 


she    had    known   of 
douhted  for  an  instan  . 


nobody  who  knew    her 


172     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

Moriarty  thought  her  something  she  nevei 
was,  and  in  that  belief  saved  himself.  Which 
was  just  as  good  as  though  she  had  been  every, 
thing  that  he  had  imagined. 

But  the  question  is,  what  claim  will  Mrs. 
Reiver  have  to  the  credit  of  Moriarty's  salva* 
tion,  when  her  day  of  reckoning  comes  ? 


A  BANK  FRAUD. 

He  drank  strong  waters  and  his  speech  was  coarse) 
He  purchased  raiment,  and  forebore  to  pay  , 

He  struck  a  trusting  junior  with  a  horse, 
And  won  Gymkhanas  in  a  doubtful  way. 

Then  'twixt  a  vice  and  folly,  turned  aside 
To  do  good  deeds  and  straight  to  cloak  them  lied. 

The  Mess  Room. 

IF  Reggie  Burke  were  in  India  now,  he  would 
resent  this  tale  being  told  ;  but  as  he  is  in  Hong- 
kong and  won't  see  it,  the  telling  is  safe.  He 
was  the  man  who  worked  the  big  fraud  on  the 
Sind  and  Sialkote  Bank.  He  was  manager  ot 
an  up-country  Branch,  and  a  sound  practical 
man  with  a  large  experience  of  native  loan  and 
insurance  work.  He  could  combine  the  frivoli- 
ties of  ordinary  life  with  his  work,  and  yet  do 
well.  Reggie  Burke  rode  anything  that  would 
let  him  get  up,  danced  as  neatly  as  he  rode,  and 
was  wanted  for  every  sort  of  amusement  in  the 
Station. 

As  he  said  himself,  and  as  many  men  found 
out  rather  to  their  surprise,  there  were  two 
Burkes,  both  very  much  at  your  service.  "  Reg- 
gie Burke,"  between  four  and  ten,  ready  for 
anything  from  a  hot-weather  gymkhana  to  a 
riding-picnic  ;  and,  between  ten  and  four,  "  Mr. 
Reginald  Burke,  Manager  of  the  Sind  and  Sial- 
kote Branch  Bank."  You  might  play  polo  with 
him  one  afternoon  and  hear  him  express  his 
opinions  when  a  man  crossed  ;  and  you  might 
call  on  him  next  morning  to  raise  a  two-thou- 
sand rupee  loan  on  a  five  hundred  pound  insur. 

173 


174     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

ance-policy,  eighty  pounds  paid  in  premiums. 
He  would  recognize  you,  but  you  would  have 
some  trouble  in  recognizing  him. 

The  Directors  of  the  Bank — it  had  its  head- 
quarters in  Calcutta  and  its  General  Manager's 
word  carried  weight  with  the  Government — 
picked  their  men  well.  They  had  tested  Reggie 
up  to  a  fairly  severe  breaking-strain.  They 
trusted  him  just  as  much  as  Directors  ever  trust 
Managers.  You  must  see  for  yourself  whether 
their  trust  was  misplaced. 

Reggie's  Branch  was  in  a  big  Station,  and 
worked  with  the  usual  staff — one  Manager,  one 
Accountant,  both  English,  a  Cashier,  and  a 
horde  of  native  clerks  ;  besides  the  Police  patrol 
at  nights  outside.  The  bulk  of  its  work,  for  it 
was  in  a  thriving  district,  was  hoondi  and  ac- 
commodation of  all  kinds.  A  fool  has  no  grip 
of  this  sort  of  business  ;  and  a  clever  man  who 
does  not  go  about  among  his  clients,  and  know 
more  than  a  little  of  their  affairs,  is  worse  than  a 
fool.  Reggie  was  young-looking,  clean-shaved, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  a  head  that  noth- 
ing short  of  a  gallon  of  the  Gunners'  Madeira 
could  make  any  impression  on. 

One  day,  at  a  big  dinner,  he  announced  casu- 
ally that  the  Directors  had  shifted  on  to  him  a 
Natural  Curiosity,  from  England,  in  the  Ac- 
countant line.  He  was  perfectly  correct.  Mr. 
Silas  Riley,  Accountant,  was  a  most  curious 
animal — a  long,  gawky,  rawboned  Yorkshire- 
man,  full  of  the  savage  self-conceit  that  blossoms 
only  in  the  best  county  in  England.  Arrogance 
was  a  mild  word  for  the  mental  attitude  of  Mr. 
S.  Riley.  He  had  worked  himself  up,  after  seven 
years,  to  a  Cashier's  position  in  a  Huddersfield 


A  Bank  Fraud  175 

Bank  ;  and  all  his  experience  lay  among  the 
factories  of  the  North.  Perhaps  he  would  have 
done  better  on  the  Bombay  side,  where  they  are 
happy  with  one-half  per  cent,  profits,  and  money 
is  cheap.  He  was  useless  for  Upper  India  and 
a  wheat  Province,  where  a  man  wants  a  large 
head  and  a  touch  of  imagination  if  he  is  to  turn 
out  a  satisfactory  balance-sheet. 

He  was  wonderfully  narrow-minded  in  busi- 
ness, and,  being  new  to  the  country,  had  no 
notion  that  Indian  banking  is  totally  distinct 
from  Home  work.  Like  most  clever  self-made 
men,  he  had  much  simplicity  in  his  nature  ; 
and,  somehow  or  other,  had  construed  the  ordi- 
narily polite  terms  of  his  letter  of  engagement 
into  a  belief  that  the  Directors  had  chosen  him 
on  account  of  his  special  and  brilliant  talents, 
and  that  they  set  great  store  by  him.  This 
notion  grew  and  crystalized  ;  thus  adding  to  his 
natural  North-country  conceit.  Further,  he  was 
delicate,  suffered  from  some  trouble  in  his  chest, 
and  was  short  in  his  temper. 

You  will  admit  that  Reggie  had  reason  to  call 
his  new  Accountant  a  Natural  Curiosity.  The 
two  men  failed  to  hit  it  off  at  all.  Riley  con- 
sidered Reggie  a  wild,  feather-headed  idiot, 
given  to  Heaven  only  knew  what  dissipation  in 
low  places  called  "  Messes,"  and  totally  unfit  for 
the  serious  and  solemen  vocation  of  banking. 
He  could  never  get  over  Reggie's  look  of  youth 
and  "  you-be-damned  "  air;  and  he  couldn't  un- 
derstand Reggie's  friends — clean-built,  careless 
men  in  the  Army — who  rode  over  to  big  Sunday 
breakfasts  at  the  Bank,  and  told  sultry  stories 
till  Riley  got  up  and  left  the  room.  Riley  was 
: always  showing  Reggie  how  the  business  ought 


176     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

to  be  conducted,  and  Reggie  had  more  than 
once  to  remind  him  that  seven  years'  limited 
experience  between  Huddersfield  and  Beverly 
did  not  qualify  a  man  to  steer  a  big  up-country 
business.  Then  Riley  sulked,  and  referred  to 
himself  as  a  pillar  of  the  Bank  and  a  cherished 
friend  of  the  Directors,  and  Reggie  tore  his  hair. 
If  a  man's  English  subordinates  fail  him  in  this 
country,  he  comes  to  a  hard  time  indeed,  for 
native  help  has  strict  limitations.  In  the  winter 
Riley  went  sick  for  weeks  at  a  time  with  his 
Jung  complaint,  and  this  threw  more  work  on 
Reggie.  But  he  preferred  it  to  the  everlasting 
friction  when  Riley  was  well. 

One  of  the  Traveling  Inspectors  of  the  Bank 
discovered  these  collapses  and  reported  them  to 
the  Directors.  Now  Riley  had  been  foisted  on 
the  Bank  by  an  M.  P.,  who  wanted  the  support 
of  Riley's  father,  who,  again,  was  anxious  to  get 
his  son  out  to  a  warmer  climate  because  of  those 
lungs.  The  M.  P.  had  interest  in  the  Bank  ; 
but  one  of  the  Directors  wanted  to  advance  a 
nominee  of  his  own  ;  and,  after  Riley's  father 
had  died,  he  made  the  rest  of  the  Board  see  that 
an  Accountant  who  was  sick  for  half  the  year 
had  better  give  place  to  a  healthy  man.  If  Riley 
had  known  the  real  story  of  his  appointment,  he 
might  have  behaved  better  ;  but,  knowing  noth- 
ing, his  stretches  of  sickness  alternated  with  rest- 
less, persistent,  meddling  irritation  of  Reggie, 
and  all  the  hundred  ways  in  which  conceit  in  a 
subordinate  situation  can  find  play.  Reggie 
used  to  call  him  striking  and  hair-curling  names 
behind  his  back  as  a  relict  to  his  own  feelings  ; 
but  he  never  abused  him  to  his  face,  because  he 
said  : — "  Riley  is  such  a  frail  beast  that  half  oi 


A  Bank  Fraud  177 

his  loathsome  conceit  is  due  to  pains  in  his 
chest." 

Late  one  April,  Riley  went  very  sick  indeed. 
The  doctor  punched  him  and  thumped  him,  and 
told  him  he  would  be  better  before  long.  Then 
the  doctor  went  to  Reggie  and  said  : — "  Do  you 
know  how  sick  your  Accountant  is  ?  "  "  No  !  " 
said  Reggie — "  The  worse  the  better,  confound 
him  !  He's  a  clacking  nuisance  when  he's  well. 
I'll  let  you  take  away  the  Bank  Safe  if  you  can 
drug  him  silent  for  this  hot  weather." 

But  the  doctor  did  not  laugh. — "  Man,  I'm  not 
joking,"  he  said.  "  I'll  give  him  another  three 
months  in  his  bed  and  a  week  or  so  more  to  die 
in.  On  my  honor  and  reputation  that's  all  the 
grace  he  has  in  this  world.  Consumption  has 
hold  of  him  to  the  marrow." 

Reggie's  face  changed  at  once  into  the  face 
of  "  Mr.  Reginald  Burke,"  and  he  answered  : — 
"What  can  I  do  ?"  "Nothing,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. «•  For  all  practical  purposes  the  man  is 
dead  already.  Keep  him  quiet  and  cheerful  and 
tell  him  he's  going  to  recover.  That's  all.  I'll 
look  after  him  to  the  end,  of  course." 

The  doctor  went  away,  and  Reggie  sat  clown 
to  open  the  evening  mail.  His  first  letter  was 
one  from  the  Directors,  intimating  for  his  in- 
formation that  Mr.  Riley  was  to  resign,  under  a 
month's  notice,  by  the  terms  of  his  agreement, 
telling  Reggie  that  their  letter  to  Riley  would 
follow,  and  advising  Reggie  of  the  coming  of  a 
new  Accountant,  a  man  whom  Reggie  knew 
and  liked. 

Reggie  lit  a  cheroot,  and,  before  he  had  fin- 
ished smoking,  he  had  sketched  the  outline  of  a 
fraud.  He  put  away — "  burked  " — the  Directors' 
12 


178     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

letter,  and  went  in  to  talk  to  Riley,  who  was  as 
ungracious  as  usual,  and  fretting  himself  over 
the  way  the  Bank  would  run  during  his  illness. 
He  never  thought  of  the  extra  work  on  Reggie's 
shoulders,  but  solely  of  the  damage  to  his  own 
prospects  of  advancement.  Then  Reggie  as- 
sured him  that  everything  would  be  well,  and 
that  he,  Reggie,  would  confer  with  Riley  daily 
on  the  management  of  the  Bank.  Riley  was  a 
little  soothed,  but  he  hinted  in  as  many  words 
that  he  did  not  think  much  of  Reggie's  business 
capacity.  Reggie  was  humble.  And  he  had 
letters  in  his  desk  from  the  Directors  that  a 
Gilbarte  or  a  Hardie  might  have  been  proud 
of! 

The  days  passed  in  the  big  darkened  house, 
and  the  Directors'  letter  of  dismissal  to  Riley 
came  and  was  put  away  by  Reggie  who,  every 
evening,  brought  the  books  to  Riley's  room,  and 
showed  him  what  had  been  going  forward,  while 
Riley  snarled.  Reggie  did  his  best  to  make 
statements  pleasing  to  Riley,  but  the  Account- 
ant was  sure  that  the  Bank  was  going  to  rack 
and  ruin  without  him.  In  June,  as  the  lying  in 
bed  told  on  his  spirit,  he  asked  whether  his 
absence  had  been  noted  by  the  Directors,  and 
Reggie  said  that  they  had  written  most  sympa- 
thetic letters,  hoping  that  he  would  be  able  to 
resume  his  valuable  services  before  long.  He 
showed  Riley  the  letters  ;  and  Riley  said  that 
the  Directors  ought  to  have  written  to  him 
direct.  A  few  days  later,  Reggie  opened  Riley's 
mail  in  the  half-light  of  the  room,  and  gave  him 
the  sheet — not  the  envelope — of  a  letter  to  Riley 
from  the  Directors.  Riley  said  he  would  thank 
Reggie  not  to  interfere  with  his  private  papers, 


A  Bank  Fraud  179 

specially  as  Reggie  knew  he  was  too  weak  to 
open  his  own  letters.  Reggie  apologized. 

Then  Riley's  mood  changed  and  he  lectured 
Reggie  on  his  evil  ways  :  his  horses  and  his  bad 
friends.  "  Of  course  lying  here,  on  my  back, 
Mr.  Burke,  I  can't  keep  you  straight  ;  but  when 
I'm  well,  I  do  hope  you'll  pay  some  heed  to  my 
words."  Reggie,  who  had  dropped  polo,  and 
dinners,  and  tennis,  and  all  to  attend  to  Riley, 
said  that  he  was  penitent  and  settled  Riley's 
head  on  the  pillow  and  heard  him  fret  and  con- 
tradict in  hard,  dry,  hacking  whispers,  without 
a  sign  of  impatience.  This  at  the  end  of  a  heavy 
day's  office  work,  doing  double  duty,  in  the  latter 
half  of  June. 

When  the  new  Accountant  came,  Reggie  told 
him  the  facts  of  the  case,  and  announced  to  Riley 
that  he  had  a  guest  staying  with  him.  Riley 
said  that  he  might  have  had  more  consideration 
than  to  entertain  his  "  doubtful  friends  "  at  such 
a  time.  Reggie  made  Carron,  the  new  Accoun- 
tant, sleep  at  the  Club  in  consequence.  Carron's 
arrival  took  some  of  the  heavy  work  off  his 
shoulders,  and  he  had  time  to  attend  to  Riley's 
exactions — to  explain,  soothe,  invent,  and  settle 
and  re-settle  the  poor  wretch  in  bed,  and  to  forge 
complimentary  letters  from  Calcutta.  At  the 
end  of  the  first  month,  Riley  wished  to  send 
some  money  home  to  his  mother.  Reggie  sent 
the  draft.  At  the  end  of  the  second  month, 
Riley's  salary  came  in  just  the  same.  Reggie 
paid  it  out  of  his  own  pocket  ;  and,  with  it,  wrote 
Riley  a  beautiful  letter  from  the  Directors. 

Riley  was  very  ill  indeed,  but  the  flame  of  his 
lite  burnt  unsteadily.  Now  and  then  he  would 
be  cheerful  and  confident  about  the  future, 


i8o     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

sketching  plans  for  going  Home  and  seeing  his 
mother.  Reggie  listened  patiently  when  the 
office-work  was  over,  and  encouraged  him. 

At  other  times,  Riley  insisted  on  Reggie  read- 
ing the  Bible  and  grim  "  Methody "  tracts  to 
him.  Out  of  these  tracts  he  pointed  morals 
directed  at  his  Manager.  But  he  always  found 
time  to  worry  Reggie  about  the  working  of  the 
Bank,  and  to  show  him  where  the  weak  points 
lay. 

This  in-door,  sick-room  life  and  constant 
strains  wore  Reggie  down  a  good  deal,  and 
shook  his  nerves,  and  lowered  his  billiard-play 
by  forty  points.  But  the  business  of  the  Bank, 
and  the  business  of  the  sick-room,  had  to  go  on. 
though  the  glass  was  116°  in  the  shade. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  month,  Riley  was  sink- 
ing fast,  and  had  begun  to  realize  that  he  was 
very  sick.  But  the  conceit  that  made  him  worry 
Reggie,  kept  him  from  believing  the  worst. 
"  He  wants  some  sort  of  mental  stimulant  if  he 
is  to  drag  on,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Keep  him  in- 
terested in  life  if  you  care  about  his  living."  So 
Riley,  contrary  to  all  the  laws  of  business  and 
the  finance,  received  a  25  per-cent.  rise  of  salary 
from  the  Directors.  "The  mental  stimulant" 
succeeded  beautifully.  Riley  was  happy  and 
cheerful,  and,  as  is  often  the  case  in  consumption, 
healthiest  in  mind  when  the  body  was  weakest. 
He  lingered  for  a  full  month,  snarling  and  fretting 
about  the  Bank,  talking  of  the  future,  hearing 
the  Bible  read,  lecturing  Reggie  on  sin,  and 
wondering  when  he  would  be  able  to  move 
abroad. 

But  at  the  end  of  September,  one  mercilessly 
hot  evening,  he  rose  up  in  his  bed  with  a  little 


A  Bank  Fraud  181 

gasp,  and  said  quickly  to  Reggie  : — •«  Mr.  Burke, 
I  am  going  to  die.  I  know  it  in  myself.  My 
chest  is  all  hollow  inside,  and  there's  nothing  to 
breathe  with.  To  the  best  of  my  knowledge  I  have 
done  nowt," — he  was  returning  to  the  talk  of  his 
boyhood — "  to  lie  heavy  on  my  conscience.  God 
be  thanked,  I  have  been  preserved  from  the 
grosser  forms  of  sin  ;  and  I  counsel  you,  Mr. 
Burke.  .  .  ." 

Here  his  voice  died  down,  and  Reggie  stooped 
over  him. 

"  Send  my  salary  for  September  to  my  Mother. 
....  done  great  things  with  the  Bank  if  I  had 
been  spared  ....  mistaken  policy  ....  no 
fault  of  mine.  .  ." 

Then  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  died. 

Reggie  drew  the  sheet  over  Its  face,  and  went 
out  into  the  veranda,  with  his  last  "  mental 
stimulant  " — a  letter  of  condolence  and  sympathy 
from  the  Directors — unused  in  his  pocket. 

"  If  I'd  been  only  ten  minutes  earlier,"  thought 
Reggie,  "  I  might  have  heartened  him  up  to  pull 
through  another  day." 


TODS'  AMENDMENT. 

The  World  hath  set  its  heavy  yoke 
Upon  the  old  white-bearded  folk 

Who  strive  to  please  the  King. 
God's  mercy  is  upon  the  young, 
God's  wisdom  in  the  baby  tongue 

That  fears  not  anything. 

TIu  Parable  of  Chajju  Bhagat. 

NOW  Tods'  Mama  was  a  singularly  charm- 
ing woman,  and  every  one  in  Simla  knew  Tods. 
Most  men  had  saved  him  from  death  on  occa- 
sions. He  was  beyond  his  ayah's  control  alto- 
gether, and  periled  his  life  daily  to  find  out  what 
would  happen  if  you  pulled  a  Mountain  Battery 
mule's  tail.  He  was  an  utterly  fearless  young 
Pagan,  about  six  years  old,  and  the  only  baby 
who  ever  broke  the  holy  calm  of  the  Supreme 
Legislative  Council. 

It  happened  this  way  :  Tods'  pet  kid  got  loose, 
and  fled  up  the  hill,  off  the  Boileaugunge  Road, 
Tods'  after  it,  until  it  burst  into  the  Viceregal 
Lodge  lawn,  then  attached  to  "  Peterhoff."  The 
Council  were  sitting  at  the  time,  and  the  windows 
were  open  because  it  was  warm.  The  Red 
Lancer  in  the  porch  told  Tods  to  go  away  ;  but 
Tods  knew  the  Red  Lancer  and  most  of  the 
Members  of  Council  personally.  Moreover,  he 
had  firm  hold  of  the  kid's  collar,  and  was  being- 
dragged  all  across  the  flower-beds.  "  Give  my 
salaam  to  the  long  Councilor  Sahib,  and  ask 
him  to  help  me  take  Moti  back  !  "  gasped  Tods. 
The  Council  heard  the  noise  through  the  open 
windows  ;  and,  after  an  interval,  was  seen  the 
182 


Tod's  Amendment          183 

shocking  spectacle  of  a  legal  Member  and  a  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor helping,  under  the  direct  patron- 
age of  a  Commander-in-Chief  and  a  Viceroy,  one 
small  and  very  dirty  boy  in  a  sailor's  suit  and  a 
tangle  of  brown  hair,  to  coerce  a  lively  and 
rebellious  kid.  They  headed  it  off  down  the 
path  to  the  Mall,  and  Tods  went  home  in  triumph 
and  told  his  Mama  that  all  the  Councilor 
Sahibs  had  been  helping  him  to  catch  Moti. 
Whereat  his  Mama  smacked  Tods  for  inter- 
fering with  the  administration  of  the  Empire  ; 
but  Tods  met  the  Legal  Member  the  next  day, 
and  told  him  in  confidence  that  if  the  Legal 
Member  ever  wanted  to  catch  a  goat,  he,  Tods, 
would  give  him  all  the  help  in  his  power. 
•«  Thank  you,  Tods,"  said  the  Legal  Member. 

Tods  was  the  idol  of  some  eighty  jhampanis, 
and  half  as  many  saises.  He  saluted  them  all 
as  "  O  Brother."  It  never  entered  his  head  that 
any  living  human  being  could  disobey  his  orders  ; 
and  he  was  the  buffer  between  the  servants 
and  his  Mama's  wrath.  The  working  of  that 
household  turned  on  Tods,  who  was  adored  by 
every  one  from  the  dhoby  to  the  dog-boy.  Even 
Futteh  Khan,  the  villainous  loafer  khit  from 
Mussoorie,  shirked  risking  Tods'  displeasure  for 
fear  his  co-mates  should  look  down  on  him. 

So  Tods  had  honor  in  the  land  from  Boileau- 
gunge  to  Chota  Simla,  and  ruled  justly  according 
to  his  lights.  Of  course,  he  spoke  Urdu,  but  he 
had  also  mastered  many  queer  side-speeches  like 
the  chote  bolee  of  the  women,  and  held  grave 
converse  with  shopkeepers  and  Hill-coolies  alike. 
He  was  precocious  tor  his  age,  and  his  mixing 
with  natives  had  taught  him  some  of  the  more 
bitter  truths  of  life  ;  the  meanness  and  the  sor- 


184     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

didness  of  it.  He  used,  over  his  bread  and 
milk,  to  deliver  solemn  and  serious  aphorisms, 
translated  from  the  vernacular  into  the  English, 
that  made  his  Mama  jump  and  vow  that  Tods 
must  go  home  next  hot  weather. 

Just  when  Tods  was  in  the  bloom  of  his  power, 
the  Supreme  Legislature  were  hacking  out  a 
Bill,  for  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts,  a  revision  of  the 
then  Act,  smaller  than  the  Punjab  Land  Bill  but 
affecting  a  few  hundred  thousand  people  none 
the  less.  The  Legal  Member  had  built,  and 
bolstered,  and  embroidered,  and  amended  that 
Bill,  till  it  looked  beautiful  on  paper.  Then 
the  Council  began  to  settle  what  they  called  the 
"  minor  details."  As  it  any  Englishman  legislat- 
ing for  natives  knows  enough  to  know  which  are 
the  minor  and  which  are  the  major  points,  from 
the  native  point  of  view,  of  any  measure  !  That 
bill  was  a  triumph  of  "  safe  guarding  the  in- 
terests of  the  tenant."  One  clause  provided  that 
land  should  not  be  leased  on  longer  terms  than 
five  years  at  a  stretch  ;  because,  if  the  landlord 
had  a  tenant  bound  down  for,  say,  twenty  years, 
he  would  squeeze  the  very  life  out  of  him.  The 
notion  was  to  keep  up  a  stream  of  independent 
cultivators  in  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts ;  and 
ethnologically  and  politically  the  notion  was 
correct.  The  only  drawback  was  that  it  was 
altogether  wrong.  A  native's  life  in  India  im- 
plies the  life  of  his  son.  Wherefore,  you  cannot 
legislate  tor  one  generation  at  a  time.  You 
must  consider  the  next  from  the  native  point  of 
view.  Curiously  enough,  the  native  now  and 
then,  and  in  Northern  India  more  particularly, 
hates  being  over-protected  against  himself. 
There  was  a  Naga  village  once,  where  they  lived 


Tod's  Amendment          185 

on  dead  and  buried  Commissariat  mules.  .  .  . 
But  that  is  another  story. 

For  many  reasons,  to  be  explained  later,  the 
people  concerned  objected  to  the  Bill.  The 
Native  Member  in  Council  knew  as  much  about 
Punjabis  as  he  knew  about  Charing  Cross.  He 
had  said  in  Calcutta  that  "  the  Bill  was  entirely 
in  accord  with  the  desires  of  that  large  and  im- 
portant class,  the  cultivators  ;  "  and  so  on,  and 
so  on.  The  Legal  Member's  knowledge  of 
natives  was  limited  to  English-speaking  Dur- 
baris,  and  his  own  red  ckaprassis,  the  Sub- 
Montane  Tracts  concerned  no  one  in  particular, 
the  Deputy  Commissioners  were  a  good  deal  too 
driven  to  make  representations,  and  the  measure 
was  one  which  dealt  with  small  landholders 
only.  Nevertheless,  the  Legal  Member  prayed 
that  it  might  be  correct,  for  he  was  a  nervously 
conscientious  man.  He  did  not  know  that  no 
man  can  tell  what  natives  think  unless  he  mixes 
with  them  with  the  varnish  off.  And  not  always 
then.  But  he  did  the  best  he  knew.  And  the 
measure  came  up  to  the  Supreme  Council  for  the 
final  touches,  while  Tods  patrolled  the  Burra 
Simla  Bazar  in  his  morning  rides,  and  played 
with  the  monkey  belonging  to  Ditta  Mull,  the 
bunnia,  and  listened,  as  a  child  listens,  to  all  the 
stray  talk  about  this  new  freak  of  the  Lat  Sahib's. 

One  clay  there  was  a  dinner-party,  at  the  house 
of  Tods'  Mama,  and  the  Legal  Member  came. 
Tods  was  in  bed,  but  he  kept  awake  till  he  heard 
the  bursts  of  laughter  from  the  men  over  the 
coffee.  Then  he  paddled  out  in  his  little  red 
flannel  dressing-gown  and  his  night-suit  and  took 
refuge  by  the  side  of  his  father,  knowing  that  he 
would  not  be  sent  back.  "See  the  miseries  of 


1 86     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

having  a  family  !  "  said  Tods' lather,  giving  Tods 
three  prunes,  some  water  in  a  glass  that  had 
been  used  for  claret,  and  telling  him  to  sit  still. 
Tods  sucked  the  prunes  slowly,  knowing  that  he 
would  have  to  go  when  they  were  finished,  and 
sipped  the  pink  water  like  a  man  of  the  world, 
as  he  listened  to  the  conversation.  Presently, 
the  Legal  Member,  talking  "shop  "  to  the  Head 
of  a  Department,  mentioned  his  Bill  by  its  full 
name — "  The  Sub  Montane  Tracts  Rye/wary 
Revised  Enactment."  Tods  caught  the  one 
native  word  and  lifting  up  his  small  voice 
said  : — 

"Oh,  I  know  all  about  that  !  Has  it  been 
murramutted  yet,  Councillor  Sahib" 

"  How  much  ?  "  said  the  Legal  Member. 

"  Murramutted — mended. — Put  theek,  you 
know — made  nice  to  please  Ditta  Mull  !  " 

The  Legal  Member  left  his  place  and  moved 
up  next  to  Tods. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Ryotwari,  little 
man  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I'm  not  a  little  man,  I'm  Tods,  and  I  know 
all  about  it.  Ditta  Mull,  and  Choga  Lall,  and 
Amir  Nath,  and — oh,  lakhs  of  my  friends  tell 
me  about  it  in  the  bazars  when  I  talk  to  them." 

"  Oh,  they  do — do  they  ?  What  do  they  say, 
Tods  ?  " 

Tods  tucked  his  feet  under  his  red  flannel 
dressing-gown  and  said  : — "  I  must_/f«/'." 

The  Legal  Member  waited  patiently.  Then 
Tods,  with  infinite  compassion  : 

"You  don't  speak  my  talk,  do  you,  Councillor 
Sahib  f  " 

"  No  ;  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  do  not,"  said  the 
Legal  Member. 


Tod's  Amendment          187 

"  Very  well,"  said  Tods,  "  I  must  Jink  in 
English." 

He  spent  a  minute  putting  his  ideas  in  order, 
*nd  began  very  slowly,  translating  in  his  mind 
irom  the  vernacular  to  English,  as  many  Anglo- 
Indian  children  do.  You  must  remember  that 
the  Legal  Member  helped  him  on  by  questions 
when  he  halted,  for  Tods  was  not  equal  to  the 
sustained  flight  of  oratory  that  follows. 

"  Ditta  Mull  says  : — •  This  thing  is  the  talk  of 
a  child,  and  was  made  up  by  fools.'  But /don't 
think  you  are  a  fool,  Councillor  Sahib"  said 
Tods  hastily.  "You  caught  my  goat.  This  is 
what  Ditta  Mull  says  : — '  I  am  not  a  fool,  and 
why  should  the  Sirkar  say  I  am  a  child  ?  I  can 
see  if  the  land  is  good  and  if  the  landlord  is 
good.  If  I  am  a  fool,  the  sin  is  upon  my  own 
head.  P'or  five  years  I  take  my  ground  for 
which  I  have  saved  money,  and  a  wife  I  take  too, 
and  a  little  son  is  born.'  Ditta  Mull  has  one 
daughter  now,  but  he  says  he  wUl  have  a  son, 
soon.  And  he  says  :  '  At  the  end  of  five  years, 
by  this  new  bundobust,  I  must  go.  If  I  do  not 
go,  I  must  get  fre«h  seals  and  ta/i/eus-stamps 
on  the  papers,  perhaps  in  the  middle  of  the 
harvest,  and  to  go  to  the  law  courts  once  is 
wisdom,  but  to  go  twice  is  Jehannum.'  That  is 
quite  true,"  explained  Tods  gravely.  "  All  my 
friends  say  so.  And  Ditta  Mull  says  : — '  Always 
fresh  takkus  and  paying  money  to  vakils  and 
chaprassis  and  law-courts  every  five  years,  or 
else  the  landlord  makes  me  go.  Why  do  I  want 
to  go  ?  Am  I  a  fool  ?  If  I  am  a  fool  and  do 
not  know,  after  forty  years,  good  land  when  I 
see  it,  let  me  die  !  But  if  the  new  bundobust 
says  for  fifteen  years,  that  it  is  good  and  wise. 


i88     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

My  little  son  is  a  man,  and  I  am  burnt,  and  he 
takes  the  ground  or  another  ground,  paying  only 
once  for  the  ta&&us -stamps  on  the  papers,  and 
his  little  son  is  born,  and  at  the  end  of  fifteen 
years  is  a  man  too.  But  what  profit  is  there  in 
five  years  and  fresh  papers  ?  Nothing  \)\\tdikh- 
trouble,  dikh.  We  are  not  young  men  who  take 
these  lands,  but  old  ones — notjats,  but  trades- 
men with  a  little  money — and  for  fifteen  years 
we  shall  have  peace.  Nor  are  we  children  that 
the  Sirkar  should  treat  us  so.'  " 

Here  Tods  stopped  short,  for  the  whole  table 
were  listening.  The  Legal  Member  said  to 
Tods  :  "  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  All  I  can  remember,"  said  Tods.  "  But  you 
should  see  Ditta  Mull's  big  monkey.  It's  just 
like  a  Councillor  Sahib." 

"Tods  !  Go  to  bed,"  said  his  father. 

Tods  gathered  up  his  dressing-gown  tail  and 
departed. 

The  Legal  Member  brought  his  hand  down 
on  the  table  with  a  crash — "  By  Jove  !  "  said  the 
Legal  Member,  "  I  believe  the  boy  is  right.  The 
short  tenure  is  the  weak  point." 

He  left  early,  thinking  over  what  Tods  had 
said.  Now,  it  was  obviously  impossible  for  the 
Legal  Member  to  play  with  a  bunnia's  monkey, 
by  way  of  getting  understanding  ;  but  he  did 
better.  He  made  inquiries,  always  bearing  in 
mind  the  fact  that  the  real  native — not  the 
hybrid,  University-trained  mule — is  as  timid  as 
a  colt,  and,  little  by  little,  he  coaxed  some  of  the 
men  whom  the  measure  concerned  most  inti- 
mately to  give  in  their  views,  which  squared 
very  closely  with  Tod's  evidence. 

So  the   Bill  was  amended  in  that  clause  ;  and 


Tods'  Amendment          189 

the  Legal  member  was  filled  with  an  uneasy 
suspicion  that  Native  Members  represent  very 
little  except  the  Orders  they  carry  on  their 
bosoms.  But  he  put  the  thought  from  him  as 
illiberal.  He  was  a  most  Liberal  man. 

After  a  time,  the  news  spread  through  the 
bazars  that  Tods  had  got  the  Bill  recast  in  the 
tenure-clause,  and  if  Tods'  Mama  had  not  inter- 
fered, Tods  would  have  made  himself  sick  on  the 
baskets  of  fruit  and  pistachio  nuts  and  Cabuli 
grapes  and  almonds  that  crowded  the  veranda. 
Till  he  went  Home,  Tods  ranked  some  few  de- 
grees before  the  Viceroy  in  popular  estimation. 
But  for  the  little  life  of  him  Tods  could  not 
understand  why. 

In  the  Legal  Member's  private-paper-box  still 
lies  the  rough  draft  of  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts 
Ryotwary  Revised  Enactment ;  and,  opposite 
the  twenty-second  clause,  penciled  in  blue  chalk, 
and  signed  by  the  Legal  Member,  are  the  word 
"  Tods'  Amendment" 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT. 

Jain  'Ardin'  was  a  Sarjint's  wife, 

A  Sarjint's  wife  wus  she. 
She  married  of  'im  in  Orldershort 

An'  corned  acrost  the  sea. 

(Chorus)  'Ave  you  never  'eard  tell  o'  Jain  'Ardin'  ? 

Jain  'Ardin'  ? 
Jain  'Ardin'? 

'Ave  you  never  'eard  tell  o'  Jain  'Ardin'? 
The  pride  o'  the  Company  ? 

Old  Barrack-Room  Ballad. 

"  A  GENTLEMAN  who  doesn't  know  the  Circas- 
sian Circle  ought  not  to  stand  up  for  it — puttin* 
everybody  out."  That  was  what  Miss  McKenna 
said,  and  the  Sergeant  who  was  my  vis-a-vis 
looked  the  same  thing.  I  was  afraid  of  Miss 
McKenna.  She  was  six  feet  high,  all  yellow 
freckles  and  red  hair,  and  was  simply  clad  in 
white  satin  shoes,  a  pink  muslin  dress,  an  apple- 
green  stuff  sash,  and  black  silk  gloves,  with  yel- 
low roses  in  her  hair.  Wherefore  I  fled  from 
Miss  McKenna  and  sought  my  friend  Private 
Mulvaney  who  was  at  the  cant — refreshment- 
table. 

"So  you've  been  dancin'  with  little  Jhansi  Mc- 
Kenna, Sorr — she  that's  goin'  to  marry  Corp'ril 
Slane  ?  Whin  you  next  conversh  wid  your 
lorruds  an'  your  -ladies,  tell  thim  you've  danced 
wid  little  Jhansi.  'Tis  a  thing  to  be  proud  av." 

But  I  wasn't  proud.  I  was  humble.  I  saw  a 
story  in  Private  Mulvaney 's  eye  ;  and,  besides, 
if  he  stayed  too  long  at  the  bar,  he  would,  I 
knew,  qualify  for  more  pack-drill.  Now  to  meet 
an  esteemed  triend  doing  pack-drill  outside  the 
guard-room,  is  embarrassing,  especially  if  you 
190 


The  Daughter  of  the  Regiment  191 

happen  to  be  walking  with  his  Commanding 
Officer. 

"Come  on  to  the  parade-ground,  Mulvaney, 
it's  cooler  there,  and  tell  me  about  Miss  Mc- 
Kenna.  What  is  she,  and  who  is  she,  and  why 
is  she  called  '  Jhansi '  ?  " 

"  D'ye  mane  to  say  you've  never  heard  av 
Ould  Pummeloe's  daughter  ?  An'  you  thinldn* 
you  know  things  !  I'm  wid  ye  in  a  minut'  whin 
me  poipe's  lit." 

We  came  out  under  the  stars.  Mulvaney  sat 
clown  on  one  of  the  artillery  bridges,  and  began 
in  the  usual  way  :  his  pipe  between  his  teeth, 
his  big  hands  clasped  and  dropped  between  his 
knees,  and  his  cap  well  on  the  back  of  his  head  : 

"  Whin  Mrs.  Mulvaney,  that  is,  was  Miss  Shad 
that  was,  you  were  a  dale  younger  than  you  are 
now,  an*  the  Army  was  dif'rint  in  sev'ril  e-sen- 
shuls.  Bhoys  have  no  call  for  to  marry  nowa- 
days, an"  that's  why  the  Army  has  so  few  rale, 
good,  honust,  swearin',  strapagin',  tinder-heart- 
ed, heavy-futted  wives  as  ut  used  to  hav  whin  I 
was  a  Corp'ril.  I  was  rejuced  afterwards — but 
no  matther — I  was  a  Corp'ril  wanst.  In  thim 
times,  a  man  lived  an'  died  wid  his  rigiment ; 
an'  by  natur',  he  married  whin  he  was  a  man. 
Whin  I  was  Corp'ril — Mother  av  Hivin,  how  the 
rigimint  has  died  an'  been  borrun  since  that 
day  ! — my  Color-Sar'jint  was  Ould  McKenna, 
an'  a  married  man  tu.  An'  his  woife — his  first 
woife,  for  he  married  three  times  did  McKenna 
— was  Bridget  McKenna,  from  Portarlington, 
like  mesilf.  I've  misremembered  fwhat  her  first 
name  was  ;  but  in  B  Comp'ny  we  called  her 
«  Ould  Pummeloe  '  by  reason  av  her  figure,  which 
was  entirely  cir-cum-fe-renshil.  Like  the  big 


IQ2     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

dhrum  !  Now  that  woman — God  rock  her  sowl 
to  rest  in  glory  ! — was  for  everlastin'  havin* 
childher  :  an'  McKenna,  whin  the  fifth  or  sixth 
come  squallin'  on  to  the  musther-roll,  swore  he 
wud  number  them  off  in  future.  ButOuld  Pum- 
meloe  she  prayed  av  him  to  christen  thim  after 
the  names  of  the  stations  they  was  borrun  in. 
So  there  was  Colaba  McKenna,  an'  Muttra  Mc- 
Kenna, an'  a  whole  Presidincy  av  other  McKen- 
nas,  an'  little  Jhansi,  dancin'  over  yonder.  Whin 
the  children  wasn't  bornin',  they  was  dying  ;  for, 
av  our  childer  die  like  sheep  in  these  clays,  they 
died  like  flies  thin.  I  lost  me  own  little  Shad — 
but  no  matther.  'Tis  long  ago,  and  Mrs.  Mul- 
vaney  niver  had  another. 

"  I'm  digresshm.  Wan  divil's  hot  summer, 
there  come  an  order  from  some  mad  ijjit,  whose 
name  I  misremember,  for  the  rijimint  to  go  up- 
country.  May  be  they  wanted  to  Know  how  the 
new  rail  carried  throops.  They  knew  !  On  me 
sowl,  they  knew  before  they  was  done  !  Ould 
Pummeloe  had  just  buried  Muttra  McKenna  ; 
an*  the  season  bein*  onwholesim,  only  little 
Jhansi  McKenna,  who  was  four  year  ould  thin, 
was  left  on  hand. 

"  Five  children  gone  in  fourteen  months. 
'Twas  harrd,  wasn't  ut  ? 

"  So  we  wint  up  to  our  new  station  in  that 
blazin'  heat — may  the  curse  av  Saint  Lawrence 
conshume  the  man  who  gave  the  ordher  !  Will 
I  ivir  forget  that  move  ?  They  gave  us  two 
wake  thrains  to  the  rigimint  ;  an*  we  was  eight 
hundher'  and  sivinty  strong.  There  was  A.  B.  C. 
an'  D.  Companies  in  the  secon'  thrain,  wid  twelve 
women,  no  orhcers"  ladies,  an"  thirteen  childer. 
We  was  to  go  six  hundher'  miles,  an"  railways 


The  Daughter  of  the  Regiment  193 

was  new  in  thim  days.  Whin  we  had  been  a 
night  in  the  belly  av  the  thrain — the  men  ragin' 
in  their  shirts  an'  dhrinkin'  anything  they  cud 
find,  an*  eatin*  bad  fruit-stuff  whin  they  cud, 
for  we  cudn't  stop  'em — I  was  a  Corp'ril  thin — 
the  cholera  bruk  out  wid  the  dawnin'  av  the  day. 

"  Pray  to  the  Saints,  you  may  niver  see  cholera 
in  a  throop-thrain  !  'Tis  like  the  judgmint  av 
God  hittin'  down  from  the  nakid  sky  !  We  run 
into  a  rest-camp — as  ut  might  have  been  Ludi- 
anny,  but  not  by  any  means  so  comfortable. 
The  Orficer  Commandin'  sent  a  telegrapt  up  the 
line,  three  hundher'  mile  up,  askin*  for  help. 
Faith,  we  wanted  ut,  for  ivry  sowl  av  the  fol- 
lowers ran  for  the  dear  life  as  soon  as  the  thrain 
stopped  ;  an'  by  the  time  that  telegrapt  was 
writ,  there  wasn't  a  naygur  in  the  station  ex- 
ceptin'  the  telegrapt-clerk — an'  he  only  bekaze 
he  was  held  dowu  *o  his  chair  by  the  scruff  av 
his  sneakin'  black  neck.  Thin  the  day  began 
wid  the  noise  in  the  carr'ges,  an'  the  rattle  av 
the  men  on  the  platform  fallin'  over,  arms  an'  all, 
as  they  stud  for  to  answer  the  Comp'ny  muster- 
roll  before  goin'  over  to  the  camp.  'Tisn't  for 
me  to  say  what  like  the  cholera  was  like.  May- 
be the  Doctor  cud  ha"  tould,  av  he  hadn't  dropped 
on  to  the  platform  from  the  door  av  a  carriage 
where  we  was  takin'  out  the  dead.  He  died 
wid  the  rest.  Some  bhoys  had  died  in  the  night. 
We  tuk  out  siven,  and  twenty  more  was  sick- 
enin*  as  we  tuk  thim.  The  women  was  huddled 
up  any  ways,  screamin*  wid  fear. 

"  Sez  the  Commandin' Orficer  whose  name  I 
misremember  : — 'Take  the  women  over  to  that 
tope  av  trees  yonder.  Get  thim  out  av  the 
camp.  'Tis  no  place  for  thim.' 

13 


194     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

"  Oulcl  Pummeloe  was  sittin'  on  her  beddin*- 
rowl,  tryin'  to  kape  little  Jhansi  quiet.  'Go  off 
to  that  tope  ! '  sez  the  Officer.  '  Go  out  av  the 
men's  way  ! ' 

" '  Be  damned  av  I  do  ! '  sez  Ould  Pummeloe, 
an'  little  Jhansi,  squattin'  by  her  mother's  side, 
squeaks  out  : — '  Be  damned  av  I  do,'  tu.  Thin 
Ould  Pummeloe  turns  to  the  women  an'  she 
sez  : — •  Are  ye  goin'  to  let  the  bhoys  die  while 
you're  picnickin",  ye  sluts  ! '  she  sez.  '  'Tis 
wather  they  want.  Come  on  an'  help.' 

"  Wid  that,  she  turns  up  her  sleeves  an'  steps 
out  for  a  well  behind  the  rest-camp — little  Jhansi 
trottin'  behind  wid  a  lotah  an'  string,  an'  the 
other  women  followin'  like  lambs,  wid  horse- 
buckets  and  cookin*  degchies.  Whin  all  the 
things  was  full,  Ould  Pummeloe  marches  back 
into  camp — 'twas  like  a  battlefield  wid  all  the 
glory  missin' — at  the  hid  av  the  rigiment  av 
women. 

"  '  McKenna,  me  man  ! '  she  sez,  wid  a  voice 
on  her  like  grand-roun's  challenge"  '  tell  the 
bhoys  to  be  quiet.  Ould  Pummeloe's  a-comin'to 
look  afther  thim — wid  free  dhrinks.' 

"  Thin  we  cheered,  and  the  cheerin'  in  the 
lines  was  louder  than  the  noise  av  the  poor  devils 
wid  the  sickness  on  thim.  But  not  much. 

"You  see,  we  was  a  new  an'  raw  rigimint  in 
those  days,  an'  we  cud  make  neither  head  nor 
tail  av  the  sickness  ;  an'  so  we  was  useless.  The 
men  was  goin'  roun'  an'  about  like  dumb  sheep, 
waitin'  for  the  nex*  man  to  fall  over,  an'  sayin' 
undher  their  spache  : — 'Fwhat  is  ut  ?  In  the 
name  av  God,  fwhat  is  ut  ? '  'Twas  horrible. 
But  through  ut  all,  up  an'  down,  an'  down  an' 
up,  wint  Ould  Pummeloe  an'  little  Jhansi — all 


The  Daughter  of  the  Regiment  195 

we  cud  see  av  the  baby,  undher  a  dead  man's 
helmet  wid  the  chin-strap  swingin*  about  her 
little  stummick — up  an'  down  wid  the  wather 
and  fwhat  brandy  there  was. 

"  Now  an*  thin,  Oukl  Pummeloe,  the  tears 
runnin'  down  her  fat,  red  face,  sez  : — •  Me  bhoys, 
me  poor,  dead  darlin'  bhoys  ! '  But,  for  the 
most,  she  was  thryin'  to  put  heart  into  the  men 
an'  kape  thim  stiddy  ;  and  little  Jhansi  was  tellin' 
thim  all  they  wud  be  '  betther  in  the  morninV 
'Twas  a  thrick  she'd  picked  up  from  hearing 
Ould  Pummeloe  whin  Muttra  was  burnin'  out 
wid  fever.  In  the  mornin'  !  'Twas  the  iver- 
lastin"  mornin'  at  St.  Peter's  Gate  was  the  mornin' 
for  seven  an'  twenty  good  men  ;  an' twenty  more 
was  sick  to  the  death  in  that  bitter,  burnin'  sun. 
But  the  women  worked  like  angils,  as  I've  said, 
an1  the  men  like  devils,  till  two  doctors  come 
down  from  above,  an'  we  was  rescued. 

"  But,  just  before  that,  Ould  Pummeloe,  on 
her  knees  over  a  bhoy  in  my  squad — right-cot 
man  to  me  he  was  in  the  barrick — tellin' him  the 
worrud  av  the  Church  that  niver  failed  a  man 
yet,  sez  : — '  Hould  me  up,  bhoys  !  I'm  feelin' 
bloody  sick  ! '  Twas  the  sun,  not  the  cholera, 
did  ut.  She  misremembered  she  was  only  wearin' 
her  ould  black  bonnet,  an'  she  died  wid  '  Mc- 
Kenna,  me  man,'  houldin'  her  up,  an'  the  bhoys 
howled  whin  they  buried  her. 

"That  night,  a  big  wind  blew,  an*  blew,  an* 
blew,  an'  blew  the  tents  flat.  But  it  blew  the 
cholera  awaj  an'  niver  another  case  there  was 
all  the  while  we  was  waitin' — ten  days  in  quar- 
intin'.  Av  you  will  belave  me,  the  thrack  of  the 
sickness  in  the  camp  was  for  all  the  worruld  the 
thrack  of  a  man  walkin'  four  times  in  a  figure* 


196     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

av-eight  through  the  tents.  They  say  'tis  the 
Wandherin*  Jew  takes  the  cholera  wid  him.  1 
believe  it. 

"An"  that,"  said.  Mulvaney,  illogically,  "  is  the 
cause  why  little  Jhansi  McKenna  is  fwhatshe  is. 
She  was  brought  up  by  the  Quarter-Master  Ser- 
geant's wife  whin  McKenna  died,  but  she  b'longs 
to  B.  Comp'ny  ;  an*  this  tale  I'm  tellin'  you — wid 
a  proper  appreciashin  av  Jhansi  McKenna — I've 
belted  into  every  recruity  av  the  Comp'ny  as  he 
was  drafted.  Faith,  'twas  me  belted  Corp'ril 
Slane  into  askin*  the  girl !  " 

"  Not  really  ?  " 

"•  Man,  I  did  !  She's  no  beauty  to  look  at,  but 
she's  Ould  Pummeloe's  daughter,  an'  'tis  myjuty 
to  provide  for  her.  Just  before  Slane  got  his 
wan-eight  a  day,  I  sez  to  him  : — •  Slane,'  sez  I, 
•  to-morrow  'twill  be  insubordinashin  av  me  to 
chastise  you  ;  but,  by  the  sowl  av  Ould  Pum- 
meloe,  who  is  now  in  glory,  av  you  don't  give 
me  your  worrud  to  ask  Jhansi  McKenna  at 
wanst,  I'll  peel  the  flesh  off  yer  bones  wid  a  brass 
huk  to-night.  'Tis  a  dishgrace  to  B.  Comp'ny 
she's  been  single  so  long  ! '  sez  I.  Was  I  goin' 
to  let  a  three-year-ould  preshume  to  cliscoorse 
wid  me  ;  my  will  bein'  set  ?  No  !  Slane  \vint 
and  asked  her.  He's  a  good  bhoy  is  Slane. 
Wan  av  these  days  he'll  get  into  the  Com'ssariat 

an  dhrive  a  boggy  wid  his savin's.  So  I 

provided  for  Ould  Pummeloe's  daughter ;  an' 
now  you  go  along  an'  dance  wid  her." 

And  I  did. 

I  felt  a  respect  for  Miss  Jhansi  McKenna  ;  and 
I  went  to  her  wedding  later  on. 

Perhaps  I  will  tell  you  about  that  one  of  these 
days. 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF   HIS  YOUTH. 

"  Stopped  in  the  straight  when  the  race  was  his  own  I 

Look  at  him  cutting  it— cur  to  the  bone  !  " 
"  Ask,  ere  the  youngster  be  rated  and  chidden, 

What  did  he  carry  and  how  was  he  ridden  ? 

Maybe  they  used  him  too  much  at  the  start ; 

Maybe  Fate's  weight-cloths  are  breaking  his  heart." 

Life's  Handicap. 

WHEN  I  was  telling  you  of  the  joke  that  The 
Worm  played  off  on  the  Senior  Subaltern,  I 
promised  a  somewhat  similar  tale,  but  with  all 
the  jest  left  out.  This  is  that  tale. 

Dicky  Hatt  was  kidnapped  in  his  early,  early 
youth — neither  by  landlady's  daughter,  house- 
maid, barmaid,  nor  cook,  but  by  a  girl  so  nearly 
of  his  own  caste  that  only  a  woman  could  have 
said  she  was  just  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world 
below  it.  This  happened  a  month  before  he 
came  out  to  India,  and  five  days  after  his  one- 
and-twentieth  birthday.  The  girl  was  nineteen 
— six  years  older  than  Dicky  in  the  things  of  this 
world,  that  is  to  say — and,  for  the  time,  twice  as 
foolish  as  he. 

Excepting,  always,  falling  off  a  horse  there  is 
nothing  more  fatally  easy  than  marriage  before 
the  Registrar.  The  ceremony  costs  less  than 
fifty  shillings,  and  is  remarkably  like  walking 
into  a  pawn-shop.  After  the  declarations  of 
residence  have  been  put  in,  four  minutes  will 
cover  the  rest  of  the  proceedings — fees,  attesta- 
tion, and  all.  Then  the  Registrar  slides  the 
blotting-pad  over  the  names,  and  says  grimly 
with  his  pen  between  his  teeth  : — "  Now  you're 

197 


198     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

man  and  wife  ;  "  and  the  couple  walk  out  into  the 
street,  feeling  as  if  something  were  horribly 
illegal  somewhere. 

But  that  ceremony  holds  and  can  drag  a  man 
to  his  undoing  just  as  thoroughly  as  the  "long 
as  ye  both  shall  live"  curse  from  the  altar-rails, 
with  the  bridesmaids  giggling  behind,  and  "  The 
Voice  that  breathed  o'er  Eden  "  lifting  the  roof 
off.  In  this  manner  was  Dicky  Halt  kidnapped, 
and  he  considered  it  vastly  fine,  for  he  had  re- 
ceived an  appointment  in  India  which  carried  a 
magnificent  salary  from  the  Home  point  of  view. 
The  marriage  was  to  be  kept  secret  for  a  year. 
Then  Mrs.  Dicky  Hatt  was  to  come  out  and  the 
rest  of  life  was  to  be  a  glorious  golden  mist. 
That  was  how  they  sketched  it  under  the  Addison 
Road  Station  lamps  ;  and,  after  one  short  month, 
came  Gravesend  and  Dicky  steaming  out  to  his 
new  life,  and  the  girl  crying  in  a  thirty-shillings 
a  week  bed-and-living-room,  in  a  back  street  off 
Montpelier-Square  near  the  Knightsbridge  Bar- 
racks. 

But  the  country  that  Dicky  came  to  was  a 
hard  land  where  "  men "  of  twenty-one  were 
reckoned  very  small  boys  indeed,  and  life  was 
expensive.  The  salary  that  loomed  so  large  six 
thousand  miles  away  did  not  go  far.  Particu- 
larly when  Dicky  divided  it  by  two,  and  remitted 
more  than  the  fair  half,  at  1-6,  to  Montpelier 
Square.  One  hundred  and  thirty-five  rupees  out 
of  three  hundred  and  thirty  is  not  much  to  live 
on  ;  but  it  was  absurd  to  suppose  that  Mrs.  Hatt 
could  exist  forever  on  the  £20  held  back  by 
Dicky  from  his  outfit  allowance.  Dicky  saw  this 
and  remitted  at  once  ;  always  remembering  that 
Rs.  700  were  to  be  paid,  twelve  months  later,  for 


In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth     199 

a  first-class  passage  out  for  a  lady.  When  you 
add  to  these  trifling  details  the  natural  instincts 
of  a  boy  beginning  a  new  life  in  a  new  country 
and  longing  to  go  about  and  enjoy  himself,  and 
the  necessity  for  grappling  with  strange  work — 
which,  properly  speaking,  should  take  up  a  boy's 
undivided  attention — you  will  see  that  Dicky 
started  handicapped.  He  saw  it  himself  for  a 
breath  or  two  ;  but  he  did  not  guess  the  full 
beauty  of  his  future. 

As  the  hot  weather  began,  the  shackles  settled 
on  him  and  ate  into  his  flesh.  First  would  come 
letters — big,  crossed,  seven-sheet  letters — from 
his  wife,  telling  him  how  she  longed  to  see  him, 
and  what  a  Heaven  upon  earth  would  be  their 
property  when  they  met.  Then  some  boy  of  the 
chummery  wherein  Dicky  lodged  would  pound 
on  the  door  of  his  bare  little  room,  and  tell  him 
to  come  out  to  look  at  a  pony — the  very  thing  to 
suit  him.  Dicky  could  not  afford  ponies.  He 
had  to  explain  this.  Dicky  could  not  afford 
living  in  the  chummery,  modest  as  it  was.  He 
had  to  explain  this  before  he  moved  to  a  single 
room  next  the  office  where  he  worked  all  day. 
He  kept  house  on  a  green  oil-cloth  table-cover, 
one  chair,  one  charpoy,  one  photograph,  one 
tooth-glass,  very  strong  and  thick,  a  seven-rupee 
eight-anna  filter,  and  messing  by  contract  at! 
thirty-seven  rupees  a  month.  Which  last  item 
was  extortion.  He  had  no  punkah,  for  a  punkah 
costs  fifteen  rupees  a  month  ;  but  he  slept  on  the 
roof  of  the  office  with  ail  his  wife's  letters  under 
his  pillow.  Now  and  again  he  was  asked  out  to 
dinner  where  he  got  both  a  punkah  and  an  iced 
drink.  But  this  was  seldom,  for  people  objected 
to  recognizing  a  boy  who  had  evidently  the  in- 


2oo     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

stincts  of  a  Scotch  tallow-chandler,  and  who  lived 
in  such  a  nasty  fashion.  Dicky  could  not  sub- 
scribe to  any  amusement,  so  he  found  no  amuse- 
ment except  the  pleasure  of  turning  over  his 
Bank-book  and  reading  what  it  said  about 
"  loans  on  approved  security."  That  cost  noth- 
ing. He  remitted  through  a  Bombay  Bank,  by 
the  way,  and  the  Station  knew  nothing  of  his 
private  affairs. 

Every  month  he  sent  Home  all  he  could  pos- 
sibly spare  for  his  wife — and  for  another  reason 
which  was  expected  to  explain  itself  shortly  and 
would  require  more  money. 

About  this  time,  Dicky  was  overtaken  with  the 
nervous  haunting  fear  that  besets  married  men 
when  they  are  out  of  sorts.  He  had  no  pension 
to  look  to.  What  if  he  should  die  suddenly,  and 
leave  his  wife  unprovided  for  ?  The  thought  used 
to  lay  hold  of  him  in  the  still,  hot  nights  on  the 
roof,  till  the  shaking  of  his  heart  made  him  think 
that  he  was  going  to  die  then  and  there  of  heart- 
disease.  Now  this  is  a  frame  of  mind  which  no 
boy  has  a  right  to  know.  It  is  a  strong  man's 
trouble  ;  but,  coming  when  it  did,  it  nearly 
drove  poor  punkah  less,  perspiring  Dicky  Hatt 
mad.  He  could  tell  no  one  about  it. 

A  certain  amount  of  "  screw"  is  as  necessary 
for  a  man  as  for  a  billiard-ball.  It  makes  them 
both  do  wonderful  things.  Dicky  needed  money 
badly,  and  he  worked  for  it  like  a  horse.  But, 
naturally,  the  men  who  owned  him  knew  that  a 
boy  can  live  very  comfortably  on  a  certain  in- 
come— pay  in  India  is  a  matter  of  age,  not 
merit,  you  see,  and,  if  their  particular  boy  wished 
to  work  like  two  boys,  Business  forbid  that  they 
should  stop  him  !  But  Business  forbid  that  they 


In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth     201 

should  give  him  an  increase  of  pay  at  his 
present  ridiculously  immature  age  !  So  Dicky 
won  certain  rises  of  salary — ample  for  a  boy  — 
not  enough  for  a  wife  and  a  child — certainly  too 
little  for  the  seven-hundred-rupee  passage  that 
he  and  Mrs.  Hatt  had  discussed  so  lightly  once 
upon  a  time.  And  with  this  he  was  forced  to  be 
content. 

Somehow,  all  his  money  seemed  to  fade  away 
in  Home  drafts  and  the  crushing  Exchange,  and 
the  tone  of  the  Home  letters  changed  and  grew 
querulous.  "  Why  wouldn't  Dicky  have  his  wife 
and  the  baby  out  ?  Surely  he  had  a  salary — a 
fine  salary — and  it  was  too  bad  of  him  to  enjoy 
himself  in  India.  But  would  he — could  he — 
make  the  next  draft  a  little  more  elastic  ?  "  Here 
followed  a  list  of  baby's  kit,  as  long  as  a  Parsee's 
bill.  Then  Dicky,  whose  heart  yearned  to  his 
wife  and  the  little  son  he  had  never  seen — which, 
again,  is  a  feeling  no  boy  is  entitled  to — enlarged 
the  draft  and  wrote  queer  half-boy,  half-man 
letters,  saying  that  life  was  not  so  enjoyable  after 
all  and  would  the  little  wife  wait  yet  a  little 
longer?  But  the  little  wife,  however  much  she 
approved  of  money,  objected  to  waiting,  and 
there  was  a  strange,  hard  sort  of  ring  in  her 
letters  that  Dicky  didn't  understand.  How  could 
he,  poor  boy  ? 

Later  on  still — just  as  Dicky  had  been  told — 
a  propos  of  another  youngster  who  had  "  made 
a  fool  of  himself"  as  the  saying  is — that  matri- 
mony would  not  only  ruin  his  further  chances  of 
advancement,  but  would  lose  him  his  present 
appointment — came  the  news  that  the  baby,  his 
own  little,  little  son,  had  died  and,  behind  this, 
forty  lines  of  an  angry  woman's  scrawl,  saying 


2O2     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

the  death  might  have  been  averted  if  certain 
things,  all  costing  money,  had  been  done,  or  if 
the  mother  and  the  baby  had  been  with  Dicky. 
The  letter  struck  at  Dicky's  naked  heart  ;  but, 
not  being  officially  entitled  to  a  baby,  he  could 
show  no  sign  of  trouble. 

How  Dicky  won  through  the  next  four  months, 
and  what  hope  he  kept  alight  to  force  him  into 
his  work,  no  one  dare  say.  He  pounded  on,  the 
seven-hundred-rupee  passage  as  far  away  as 
ever,  and  his  style  of  living  unchanged,  except 
when  he  launched  into  a  new  filter.  There 
was  the  strain  of  his  office-work,  and  the  strain 
of  his  remittances,  and  the  knowledge  of  his  boy's 
death,  which  touched  the  boy  more,  perhaps, 
than  it  would  have  touched  a  man  ;  and,  beyond 
all,  the  enduring  strain  of  his  daily  life.  Gray- 
headed  seniors  who  approved  of  his  thriftand  his 
fashion  of  denying  himself  everything  pleasant, 
reminded  him  of  the  old  saw  that  says  : — 

"  If  a  youth  would  be  distinguished  in  his  art,  art,  art, 
He  must  keep  the  girls  away  from  his  heart,  heart, 
heart." 

And  Dicky,  who  fancied  he  had  been  through 
every  trouble  that  a  man  is  permitted  to  know, 
had  to  laugh  and  agree  ;  with  the  last  line  of 
his  balanced  Bank-book  jingling  in  his  head  day 
and  night. 

But  he  had  one  more  sorrow  to  digest  before 
the  end.  There  arrived  a  letter  from  the  little 
wife — the  natural  sequence  of  the  others  if  Dicky 
had  only  known  it — and  the  burden  of  that  letter 
was  "gone  with  a  handsomer  man  than  you." 
It  was  a  rather  curious  production,  without  stops, 
something  like  his: — "She  was  not  going  to 


In  the  Pride  of  His  Youth     203 

wait  forever  and  the  baby  was  dead  and  Dicky 
was  only  a  boy  and  he  would  never  set  eyes  on 
her  again  and  why  hadn't  he  waved  his  hand- 
kerchief to  her  wh^en  he  left  Gravesend  and  God 
was  her  judge  she  was  a  wicked  woman  but 
Dicky  was  worse  enjoying  himself  in  India  and 
this  other  man  loved  the  ground  she  trod  on  and 
would  Dicky  ever  forgive  her  for  she  would 
never  forgive  Dicky  ;  and  there  was  no  address 
to  write  to." 

Instead  of  thanking  the  stars  that  he  was  free, 
Dicky  discovered  exactly  how  an  injured  hus- 
band feels — again,  not  at  all  the  knowledge  to 
which  a  boy  is  entitled — for  his  mind  went  back 
to  his  wife  as  he  remembered  her  in  the  thirty- 
shilling  "suite  "  in  Montpelier  Square,  when  the 
lawn  of  his  last  morning  in  England  wasbreak- 
ng,  and  she  was  crying  in  the  bed.  Whereat 
he  rolled  about  on  his  bed  and  bit  his  fingers. 
He  never  stopped  to  think  whether,  if  he  had  met 
Mrs.  Hatt  after  those  two  years,  he  would  have 
discovered  that  he  and  she  had  grown  quite  dif- 
ferent and  new  persons.  This,  theoretically,  he 
ought  to  have  done.  He  spent  the  night  after 
the  English  Mail  came  in  rather  severe  pain. 

Next  morning,  Dicky  Hatt  felt  disinclined  to 
work.  He  argued  that  he  had  missed  the  pleas- 
ure of  youth.  He  was  tired,  and  he  had  tasted 
all  the  sorrow  in  life  before  three  and  twenty. 
His  Honor  was  gone — that  was  the  man  ;  and 
now  he,  too,  would  go  to  the  Devil — that  was  the 
boy  in  him.  So  he  put  his  head  down  on  the 
green  oil-cloth  table-cover,  and  wept  before  re- 
signing his  post,  and  all  it  offered. 

But  tlve  reward  of  his  services  came.  He  was 
given  three  days  to  reconsider  himself,  and  the 


2O4     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

Head  of  the  establishment,  after  some  telegraph- 
ings,  said  that  it  was  a  most  unusual  step,  but 
in  view  of  the  ability  that  Mr.  Halt  had  displayed 
at  such  and  such  a  time,  at  such  and  such 
junctures,  he  was  in  a  position  to  offer  him  an 
infinitely  superior  post — first  on  probation, 
and  later,  in  the  natural  course  of  things,  on  con- 
firmation. "  And  how  much  does  the  post 
carry?"  said  Dicky.  "Six  hundred  and  fifty 
rupees,"  said  the  Head  slowly,  expecting  to  see 
the  young  man  sink  with  gratitude  and  joy. 

And  it  came  then  !  The  seven  hundred  rupee 
passage,  and  enough  to  have  saved  the  wife,  and 
the  little  son,  and  to  have  allowed  of  assured  and 
open  marriage,  came  then.  Dicky  burst  into  a 
roar  of  laughter — laughter  he  could  not  check — 
nasty,  jangling  merriment  that  seemed  as  if  it 
would  go  on  forever.  When  he  had  recovered 
himself  he  said,  quite  seriously  : — "  I'm  tired  of 
work.  I'm  an  old  man  now.  It's  about  time  I 
retired.  And  I  will." 

"  The  boy's  mad  1"  said  the  Head. 

I  think  he  was  right ;  but  Dicky  Hatt  never 
reappeared  to  settle  the  question. 


PIG. 

Go,  stalk  the  red  deer  o'er  the  heather 

Ride,  follow  the  fox  if  you  can ! 
But,  for  pleasure  and  profit  together. 

Allow  me  the  hunting  of  Man, — 
The  chase  of  the  Human,  the  search  for  the  Soul 

To  its  ruin, — the  hunting  of  Man. 

The  Old  Shikarri. 

I  BELIEVE  the  difference  began  in  the  matter 
of  a  horse,  with  a  twist  in  his  temper,  whom 
Pinecoffin  sold  to  Naflferton  and  by  whom  Naf- 
ferton  was  nearly  slain.  There  may  have  been 
other  causes  of  offense  ;  the  horse  was  the  offi- 
cial stalking-horse.  Nafferton  was  very  angry  ; 
but  Pinecoffin  laughed  and  said  that  he  had 
never  guaranteed  the  beast's  manners.  Naffer- 
ton  laughed,  too,  though  he  vowed  that  he  would 
write  off  his  fall  against  Pinecoffin  if  he  waited 
five  years.  Now,  a  Dalesman  from  beyond 
Skipton  will  forgive  an  injury  when  the  Strid 
lets  a  man  live  ;  but  a  South  Devon  man  is  as 
soft  as  a  Dartmoor  bog.  You  can  see  from  their 
names  that  Nafferton  had  the  race-advantage  of 
Pinecoffin.  He  was  a  peculiar  man,  and  his  no- 
tions of  humor  were  cruel.  He  taught  me  a  new 
and  fascinating  form  of  shikar.  He  hounded 
Pinecoffin  from  Mithankot  to  Jagadri,  and  from 
Gurgoon  to  Abhottabad — up  and  across  the 
Punjab,  a  large  Province  and  in  places  remark- 
ably dry.  He  said  that  he  had  no  intention  of 
allowing  Assistant  Commissioners  to  "sell  him 
pups,"  in  the  shape  of  ramping,  screaming  coun« 

205 


206     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

try-breds,  without  making  their  lives  a  burden  to 
them. 

Most  Assistant  Commissioners  develop  a  bent 
for  some  special  work  after  their  first  hot  weather 
in  the  country.  The  boys  with  digestions  hope 
to  write  their  names  large  on  the  Frontier,  and 
struggle  for  dreary  places  like  Bannu  and  Kohat. 
The  bilious  ones  climb  into  the  Secretariat. 
Which  is  very  bad  for  the  liver.  Others  are 
bitten  with  a  mania  for  District  work,  Ghuz- 
nivide  coins  or  Persian  poetry  ;  while  some, 
who  come  of  farmers'  stock,  find  that  the  smell 
of  the  Earth  after  the  Rains  gets  into  their 
blood,  and  calls  them  to  "  develop  the  resources 
of  the  Province."  These  men  are  enthusiasts. 
Pinecoffin  belonged  to  their  class.  He  knew  a 
great  many  facts  bearing  on  the  cost  of  bullocks 
and  temporary  wells,  and  opium-scrapers,  and 
what  happens  if  you  burn  too  much  rubbish  on  a 
field,  in  the  hope  of  enriching  used-up  soil.  All 
the  Pinecoffins  come  of  a  landholding  breed,  and 
so  the  land  only  took  back  her  own  again.  Un- 
fortunately— most  unfortunately  for  Pinecoffin — 
he  was  a  Civilian,  as  well  as  a  farmer.  Naffer- 
ton  watched  him,  and  thought  about  the  horse. 
Nafferton  said  : — "See  me  chase  that  boy  till  he 
drops  !  "  I  said  : — "  You  can't  get  your  knife 
into  an  Assistant  Commissioner."  Nafferton  told 
me  that  I  did  not  understand  the  administration 
of  the  Province. 

Our  Government  is  rather  peculiar.  It  gushes 
on  the  agricultural  and  general  information  side, 
and  will  supply  a  moderately  respectable  man  with 
all  sorts  of  "  economic  statistics,"  if  he  speaks  to 
it  prettily.  For  instance,  you  are  interested  in 
gold-washing  in  the  sands  of  the  Sutlej.  You 


Pig  207 

pull  the  string,  and  find  that  it  wakes  up  half  a 
dozen  Departments,  and  finally  communicates, 
say,  with  a  friend  of  yours  in  the  Telegraph,  who 
once  wrote  some  notes  on  the  customs  of  the 
gold-washers  when  he  was  on  construction-work 
in  their  part  of  the  Empire.  He  may  or  may 
not  be  pleased  at  being  ordered  to  write  out 
everything  he  knows  for  your  benefit.  This  de- 
pends on  his  temperament.  The  bigger  man 
you  are,  the  more  information  and  the  greater 
trouble  can  you  raise. 

Nafferton  was  not  a  big  man  ;  but  he  had 
the  reputation  of  being  very  "earnest."  An 
••earnest"  man  can  do  much  with  a  Govern- 
ment. There  was  an  earnest  man  once  who 
nearly  wrecked.  .  .  but  all  India  knows  that 
story.  I  am  not  sure  what  real  "  earnestness  " 
is.  A  very  fair  imitation  can  be  manufactured 
by  neglecting  to  dress  decently,  by  mooning 
about  in  a  dreamy,  misty  sort  of  way,  by  taking 
office-work  home  after  staying  in  office  till  seven, 
and  by  receiving  crowds  of  native  gentlemen 
on  Sundays.  That  is  one  sort  of  "  earnestness." 

Nafferton  cast  about  for  a  peg  whereon  to 
hang  his  earnestness,  and  for  a  string  that  would 
communicate  with  Pinecoffin.  He  found  both. 
They  were  Pig.  Nafferton  became  an  earnest 
inquirer  after  Pig.  He  informed  the  Government 
that  he  had  a  scheme  whereby  a  very  large  per- 
centage of  the  British  Army  in  India  could  be 
fed,  at  a  very  large  saving,  on  Pig.  Then  he 
hinted  that  Pinecoffin  might  supply  him  with  the 
"  varied  information  necessary  to  the  proper  in- 
ception of  the  scheme."  So  the  Government 
wrote  on  the  back  of  the  letter  : — "  Instruct  Mr. 
Pinecoffin  to  furnish  Mr.  Nafferton  with  any  in« 


208     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

formation  in  his  power."  Government  is  very 
prone  to  writing  things  on  the  backs  of  letters 
which,  later,  lead  to  trouble  and  confusion. 

Nafferton  had  not  the  faintest  interest  in  Pig, 
but  he  knew  that  Pinecoffin  would  flounce  into 
the  trap.  Pinecoffin  was  delighted  at  being  con- 
sulted about  Pig.  The  Indian  Pig  is  not  exactly 
an  important  factor  in  agricultural  life :  but 
Nafferton  explained  to  Pinecoffin  that  there  was 
room  for  improvement,  and  corresponded  direct 
with  that  young  man. 

You  may  think  that  there  is  not  much  to  be 
evolved  Irom  Pig.  It  all  depends  how  you  set 
to  work.  Pinecoffin  being  a  Civilian  and  wish- 
ing to  do  things  thoroughly,  began  with  an  essay 
on  the  Primitive  Pig,  the  Mythology  of  the  Pig, 
and  the  Dravidian  Pig.  Nafferton  filed  that  in- 
formation— twenty-seven  foolscap  sheets — and 
wanted  to  know  about  the  distribution  of  the  Pig 
in  the  Punjab,  and  how  it  stood  the  Plains  in  the 
hot  weather.  From  this  point  onwards,  re- 
member that  I  am  giving  you  only  the  barest 
outlines  of  the  affair — the  guy-ropes,  as  it  were, 
of  the  web  that  Nafferton  spun  round  Pinecoffin. 

Pinecoffin  made  a  colored  Pig-population  map, 
and  collected  observations  on  the  comparative 
longevity  of  Pig  (a)  in  the  sub-montane  tracts 
of  the  Himalayas,  and  (b)  in  the  Rechna  Doab. 
Nafferton  filed  that,  and  asked  what  sort  of 
people  looked  after  Pig.  This  started  an  ethno- 
logical excursus  on  swineherds,  and  drew  from 
Pinecoffin  long  tables  showing  the  proportion 
per  thousand  of  the  caste  in  the  Derajat.  Naf- 
ferton filed  that  bundle,  and  explained  that  the 
figures  which  he  wanted  referred  to  the  Cis- 
Sutlej  states,  where  he  understood  that  Pigs 


Pig  209 

were  very  fine  and  large,  and  where  he  proposed 
to  start  a  Piggery.  By  this  time,  Government 
had  quite  forgotten  their  instructions  to  Mr. 
Pinecoffin.  They  were  like  the  gentlemen,  in 
Keat's  poem,  who  turned  well-oiled  wheels  to 
skin  other  people.  But  Pinecoffin  was  just  en- 
tering into  the  spirit  of  the  Pig-hunt,  as  Naffer- 
to..  well  knew  he  would  do.  He  had  a  fair 
amount  of  work  of  his  own  to  clear  away  ;  but 
he  sat  up  of  nights  reducing  Pig  to  five  places  of 
decimals  for  the  honor  of  his  Service.  He  was 
not  going  to  appear  ignorant  of  so  easy  a  subject 
as  Pig. 

Then  Government  sent  him  on  special  duty  to 
Kohat,  to  •'  inquire  into "  the  big,  seven-loot, 
iron-shod  spades  of  that  District.  People  had 
been  killing  each  other  with  those  peaceful 
tools  ;  and  Government  wished  to  know  "  whether 
a  modified  form  of  agricultural  implement  could 
not,  tentatively  and  as  a  temporary  measure,  be 
introduced  among  the  agricultural  population 
without  needlessly  or  unduly  exacerbating  the 
existing  religious  sentiments  of  the  peasantry." 

Between  those  spades  and  Nafferton's  Pig, 
Pinecoffin  was  rather  heavily  burdened. 

Nafferton  now  began  to  take  up  "  (a)  The 
food-supply  of  the  indigenous  Pig,  with  a  view 
to  the  improvement  of  its  capacities  as  a  flesh- 
former,  (b)  The  acclimatization  of  the  exotic 
Pig,  maintaining  its  distinctive  peculiarities." 
Pinecoffin  replied  exhaustively  that  the  exotic 
Pig  would  become  merged  in  the  indigenous 
type  ;  and  quoted  horse-breeding  statistics  to 
prove  this.  The  side-issue  was  debated,  at 
great  length  on  Pinecoffin's  side,  till  Nafferton 
owned  that  he  had  been  in  the  wrong,  and  moved 

14 


210     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

the  previous  question.  When  Pinecoffin  had 
quite  written  himself  out  about  flesh-formers,  and 
fibrins,  and  glucose  and  the  nitrogenous  con- 
stituents of  maize  and  lucerne,  Nafferton  raised 
the  question  of  expense.  By  this  time  Pine- 
coffin,  who  had  been  transferred  from  Kohat, 
had  developed  a  Pig  theory  of  his  own,  which  he 
stated  in  thirty-three  folio  pages — all  carefully 
filed  by  Nafferton.  Who  asked  for  more. 

These  things  took  ten  months,  and  Pinecoffin's 
interest  in  the  potential  Piggery  seemed  to  die 
down  after  he  had  stated  his  own  views.  But 
Nafferton  bombarded  him  with  letters  on  "  the 
Imperial  aspect  of  the  scheme,  as  tending  to 
officialize  the  sale  of  pork,  and  thereby  caculated 
to  give  offense  to  the  Mahomedan  population  of 
Upper  India."  He  guessed  that  Pinecoffin  would 
want  some  broad,  free-hand  work  after  his 
niggling,  stippling,  decimal  details.  Pinecoffin 
handled  the  latest  development  of  the  case  in 
masterly  style,  and  proved  that  no  "  popular 
ebullition  of  excitement  was  to  be  apprehended." 
Nafferton  said  that  there  was  nothing  like  Civil- 
ian insight  in  matters  of  this  kind,  and  lured  him 
up  a  bye-path — "the  possible  profits  to  accrue  to 
the  Government  from  the  sale  of  hog-bristles." 
There  is  an  extensive  literature  of  hog-bristles, 
and  the  shoe,  brush,  and  colorman's  trades  recog- 
nize more  varieties  of  bristles  than  you  would 
think  possible.  After  Pinecoffin  had  wondered 
a  little  at  Nafferton's  rage  for  information,  he 
sent  back  a  monograph,  fifty-one  pages,  on 
"  Products  of  the  Pig."  This  led  him,  under 
Nafferton's  tender  handling,  straight  to  the  Cawn- 
pore  factories,  the  trade  in  hogskin  for  saddles 
• — and  thence  to  the  tanners.  Pinecoffin  wrote 


Pig  211 

that  pomegranate-seed  was  the  best  cure  for  hog- 
skin,  and  suggested — for  the  past  fourteen 
months  had  wearied  him — that  Nafferton  should 
"raise  his  pigs  before  he  tanned  them." 

Nafferton  went  back  to  the  second  section  of 
his  fifth  question.  How  could  the  exotic  Pig  be 
brought  to  give  as  much  pork  as  it  did  in  the 
West  and  yet  "  assume  the  essentially  hirsute 
characteristics  of  its  oriental  congener  ?  "  Pine- 
coffin  felt  dazed,  for  he  had  forgotten  what  he  had 
written  sixteen  months  before,  and  fancied  that 
he  was  about  to  reopen  the  entire  question.  He 
was  so  far  involved  in  the  hideous  tangle  to 
retreat,  and,  in  a  weak  moment,  he  wrote  : — 
"  Consult  my  first  letter."  Which  related  to  the 
Dravidian  Pig.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Pinecoffin 
had  still  to  reach  the  acclimatization  stage  ; 
having  gone  off  on  a  side-issue  on  the  merging 
of  types. 

Then  Nafferton  really  unmasked  his  batteries  ! 
He  complained  to  the  Government,  in  stately 
language,  of  "the  paucity  of  help  accorded  to 
me  in  my  earnest  attempts  to  start  a  potentially 
remunerative  industry,  and  the  flippancy  with 
which  my  requests  for  information  are  treated 
by  a  gentleman  whose  pseudo-scholarly  attain- 
ments should  at  least  have  taught  him  the  pri- 
mary differences  between  the  Dravidian  and  the 
Berkshire  variety  of  the  genus  Sus.  If  I  am  to 
understand  that  the  letter  to  which  he  refers  me 
contains  his  serious  views  on  the  acclimatization 
of  a  valuable,  though  possibly  uncleanly,  animal, 
I  am  reluctantly  compelled  to  believe,"  etc.,  etc. 

There  was  a  new  man  at  the  head  of  the  De- 
partment of  Castigation.  The  wretched  Pine- 
coffin  was  told  that  the  Service  was  made  for 


212     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

the  Country,  and  not  the  Country  for  the  Service, 
and  that  he  had  better  begin  to  supply  informa- 
tion about  Pigs. 

Pinecoffin  answered  insanely  that  he  had  writ- 
ten everything  that  could  be  written  about  Pig, 
and  that  some  furlough  was  due  to  him. 

Nafferton  got  a  copy  of  that  letter,  and  sent  it, 
with  the  essay  on  the  Dravidian  Pig,  to  a  down- 
country  paper  which  printed  both  in  full.  The 
essay  was  rather  high-flown  ;  but  if  the  Editor 
had  seen  the  stacks  of  paper,  in  Pinecoffin's 
handwriting,  on  Nafferton's  table,  he  would  not 
have  been  so  sarcastic  about  the  "nebulous  dis- 
cursiveness and  blatant  self-sufficiency  of  the 
modern  Competition-w<7//rt/£,  and  his  utter  in- 
ability to  grasp  the  practical  issues  of  a  practical 
question."  Many  friends  cut  out  these  remarks 
and  sent  them  to  Pinecoffin. 

I  have  already  stated  that  Pinecoffin  came  of 
a  soft  stock.  This  last  stroke  frightened  and 
shook  him.  He  could  not  understand  it  ;  but 
he  felt  that  he  had  been,  somehow,  shamelessly 
betrayed  by  Nafferton.  He  realized  that  he  had 
wrapped  himself  up  in  the  Pigskin  without  need, 
and  that  he  could  not  well  set  himself  right  with 
his  Government.  All  his  acquaintances  asked 
after  his  "  nebulous  discursiveness  r>  or  his 
41  blatant  self-sufficiency,"  and  this  made  him 
miserable. 

He  took  a  train  and  went  to  Nafferton  whom 
he  had  not  seen  since  the  Pig  business  began. 
He  also  took  the  cutting  from  the  paper,  and 
blustered  feebly  and  called  Nafferton  names,  and 
then  died  down  to  a  watery,  weak  protest  of  the 
41 1-say-it's-too-bad-you-know  "  order. 

Nafferton  was  very  sympathetic. 


Pig  213 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  given  you  a  good  deal  of 
trouble,  haven't  I  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Trouble  !  "  whimpered  Pinecoffin  ;  "  I  don't 
mind  the  trouble  so  much,  though  that  was  bad 
enough  ;  but  what  I  resent  is  this  showing  up  in 
print.  It  will  stick  to  me  like  a  burr  all  through 
my  service.  And  I  did  do  my  best  for  your  in- 
terminable swine.  It's  too  bad  of  you,  on  my 
soul  it  is  !  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Nafferton ;  "  have  you 
ever  been  stuck  with  a  horse  ?  It  isn't  the 
money  I  mind,  though  that  is  bad  enough  ;  but 
what  I  resent  is  the  chaff  that  follows,  especially 
from  the  boy  who  stuck  me.  But  I  think  we'll 
cry  quits  ow." 

Pinecoffin  found  nothing  to  say  save  bad 
words  ;  and  Nafferton  smiled  ever  so  sweetly, 
and  asked  him  to  dinner. 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS. 

It  was  not  in  the  open  field 

We  threw  away  the  sword, 
But  in  the  lonely  watching 

In  the  darkness  by  the  ford, 
The  waters  lapped,  the  7iight-wind  blew, 
Full-armed  the  fear  was  born  and  grew, 
And  we  were  flying  ere  we  knew 

From  panic  in  the  night. 

Beoni  Bar. 

SOME  people  hold  that  an  English  Cavalry 
regiment  cannot  run.  This  is  a  mistake.  I 
have  seen  four  hundred  and  thirty-seven  sabers 
flying  over  the  face  of  the  country  in  abject  terror 
— have  seen  the  best  Regiment  that  ever  drew 
bridle,  wiped  off  the  Army  List  for  the  space  of 
two  hours.  If  you  repeat  this  tale  to  the  White 
Hussars  they  will,  in  all  probability,  treat  you 
severely.  They  are  not  proud  of  the  incident. 

You  may  know  the  White  Hussars  by  their 
"  side  "  which  is  greater  than  that  of  all  the 
Cavalry  Regiments  on  the  roster.  If  this  is  not 
a  sufficient  mark,  you  may  know  them  by  their 
old  brandy.  It  has  been  sixty  years  in  the  Mess 
and  is  worth  going  far  to  taste.  Ask  for  the 
"  McGaire  "  old  brandy,  and  see  that  you  get  it. 
If  the  Mess  Sergeant  thinks  that  you  are  unedu- 
cated, and  that  the  genuine  article  will  be  lost 
on  you,  he  will  treat  you  accordingly.  He  is  a 
good  man.  But,  when  you  are  at  Mess,  you 
must  never  talk  to  your  hosts  about  forced 
marches  or  long-distance  rides.  The  Mess  are 
very  sensitive  ;  and,  if  they  think  that  you  are 
laughing  at  them,  will  tell  you  so. 
214 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  215 

As  the  White  Hussars  say,  it  was  all  the  Colo- 
nel's fault.  He  was  a  new  man,  and  he  ought 
never  to  have  taken  the  Command.  He  said 
that  the  Regiment  was  not  smart  enough.  This 
to  the  White  Hussars,  who  knew  they  could 
walk  round  any  Horse  and  through  any  Guns, 
and  over  any  Foot  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ! 
That  insult  was  the  first  cause  of  offense. 

Then  the  Colonel  cast  the  Drum-Horse — the 
Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hussars  !  Perhaps 
you  do  not  see  what  an  unspeakable  crime  he  had 
committed.  I  will  try  to  make  it  clear.  The 
soul  of  the  Regiment  lives  in  the  Drum-Horse 
who  carries  the  silver  kettle-drums.  He  is 
nearly  always  a  big  piebald  Waler.  That  is  a 
point  of  honor  ;  and  a  Regiment  will  spend  any- 
thing you  please  on  a  piebald.  He  is  beyond 
the  ordinary  laws  of  casting.  His  work  is  very 
light,  and  he  only  manoeuvres  at  a  foot-pace. 
Wherefore,  so  long  as  he  can  step  out  and  look 
handsome,  his  well-being  is  assured.  He  knows 
more  about  the  Regiment  than  the  Adjutant, 
and  could  not  make  a  mistake  if  he  tried. 

The  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hussars  was 
only  eighteen  years  old,  and  perfectly  equal  to 
his  duties.  He  had  at  least  six  years'  more  work 
in  him,  and  carried  himself  with  all  the  pomp 
and  dignity  of  a  Drum-Major  of  the  Guards. 
The  Regiment  had  paid  Rs.  1,200  for  him. 

But  the  Colonel  said  that  he  must  go,  and  he 
was  cast  in  due  form  and  replaced  by  a  washy, 
bay  beast,  as  ugly  as  a  mule,  with  a  ewe-neck, 
rat-tail,  and  cow-hocks.  The  Drummer  detested 
that  animal,  and  the  best  of  the  Band-horses  put 
back  their  ears  and  showed  the  whites  of  their 
eyes  at  the  very  sight  of  him.  They  knew  him 


216     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

for  an  upstart  and  no  gentleman.  I  fancy  that 
the  Colonel's  ideas  of  smartness  extended  to  the 
Band,  and  that  he  wanted  to  make  it  take  part  in 
the  regular  parade  movements.  A  Cavalry  Band 
is  a  sacred  thing.  It  only  turns  out  for  Com- 
manding Officers'  parades,  and  the  Band  Master 
is  one  degree  more  important  than  the  Colonel. 
He  is  a  High  Priest  and  the  "  Keel  Row"  is  his 
holy  song.  The  "  Kee  I  Row"  is  the  Cavalry 
Trot ;  and  the  man  who  has  never  heard  that 
tune  rising,  high  and  shrill,  above  the  rattle  of 
the  Regiment  going  past  the  saluting-base,  has 
something  yet  to  hear  and  understand. 

When  the  Colonel  cast  the  Drum-Horse  of  the 
White  Hussars,  there  was  nearly  a  mutiny. 

The  officers  were  angry,  the  Regiment  were 
furious,  and  the  Bandsmen  swore — like  troopers. 
The  Drum-Horse  was  going  to  be  put  up  to 
auction — public  auction — to  be  bought,  perhaps 
by  a  Parsee  and  put  into  a  cart  !  It  was  worse 
than  exposing  the  inner  life  of  the  Regiment  to 
the  whole  world,  or  selling  the  Mess  Plate  to  a 
Jew — a  black  Jew. 

The  Colonel  was  a  mean  man  and  a  bully.  He 
knew  what  the  Regiment  thought  about  his 
action  ;  and,  when  the  troopers  offered  to  buy 
the  Drum-Horse,  he  said  that  their  offer  was 
mutinous  and  forbidden  by  the  regulations. 

But  one  of  the  Subalterns — Hogan-Yale,  an 
Irishman — bought  the  Drum-Horse  for  Rs.  160 
at  the  sale  ;  and  the  Colonel  was  wroth.  Yale 
professed  repentance — he  was  unnaturally  sub- 
missive— and  said  that,  as  he  had  only  made  the 
purchase  to  save  the  horse  from  possible  ill- 
treatment  and  starvation,  he  would  now  shoot 
him  and  end  the  business.  This  appeared  to 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  217 

soothe  the  Colonel,  for  he  wanted  the  Drum- 
Horse  disposed  of.  He  felt  that  he  had  made  a 
mistake,  and  could  not  of  course  acknowledge  it. 
Meantime,  the  presence  of  the  Drum-Horse  was 
an  annoyance  to  him. 

Yale  took  to  himself  a  glass  of  the  old  brandy, 
three  cheroots,  and  his  friend,  Martyn  ;  and  they 
all  left  the  Mess  together.  Yale  and  Martyn 
conferred  for  two  hours  in  Yale's  quarters  ;  but 
only  the  bull-terrier  who  keeps  watch  over  Yale's 
boot-trees  knows  what  they  said.  A  horse, 
hooded  and  sheeted  to  his  ears,  left  Yale's  stables 
and  was  taken  very  unwillingly,  into  the  Civil 
Lines.  Yale's  groom  went  with  him.  Two  men 
broke  into  the  Regimental  Theater  and  took  sev- 
eral paint-pots  and  some  large  scenery  brushes. 
Then  night  fell  over  the  Cantonments,  and  there 
was  a  noise  as  of  a  horse  kicking  his  loose-box 
to  pieces  in  Yale's  stables.  Yale  had  a  big,  old, 
white  Waler  trap-horse. 

The  next  day  was  a  Thursday,  and  the  men, 
hearing  that  Yale  was  going  to  shoot  the  Drum- 
Horse  in  the  evening,  determined  to  give  the 
beast  a  regular  regimental  funeral — a  finer  one 
than  they  would  have  given  the  Colonel  had  he 
died  just  then.  They  got  a  bullock-cart  and 
some  sacking,  and  mounds  and  mounds  of  roses', 
and  the  body,  under  sacking,  was  carried  out  to 
the  place  where  the  anthrax  cases  were  cremated  ; 
two-thirds  of  the  Regiment  following.  There 
was  no  Band,  but  they  all  sang  ••  The  Place 
•where  the  old  Horse  died"  as  something  respect- 
ful and  appropriate  to  the  occasion.  When  the 
corpse  was  dumped  into  the  grave  and  the  men 
began  throwing  down  armfuls  of  roses  to  cover 
it,  the  Farrier-Sergeant  ripped  out  an  oath  and 


218     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

said  aloud; — "Why,  it  ain't  the  Drum-Horse 
any  more  than  it's  me  !  "  The  Troop-Sergeant- 
Majors  asked  him  whether  he  had  left  his  head 
in  the  Canteen.  The  Farrier-Sergeant  said  that 
he  knew  the  Drum-Horse's  feet  as  well  as  he 
knew  his  own  ;  but  he  was  silenced  when  he 
saw  the  regimental  number  burnt  in  on  the  poor 
stiff,  upturned  near-fore. 

Thus  was  the  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hus- 
sars buried  ;  the  Farrier-Sergeant  grumbling. 
The  sacking  that  covered  the  corpse  was  smeared 
in  places  with  black  paint  ;  and  the  Farrier- 
Sergeant  drew  attention  to  this  fact.  But  the 
Troop-Sergeant-Major  of  E  Troop  kicked  him 
severely  on  the  shin,  and  told  him  that  he  was 
undoubtedly  drunk. 

On  the  Monday  following  the  burial,  the 
Colonel  sought  revenge  on  the  White  Hussars. 
Unfortunately,  being  at  that  time  temporarily  in 
Command  of  the  Station,  he  ordered  a  Brigade 
field-clay.  He  said  that  he  wished  to  make  the 
regiment  "sweat  for  their  damned  insolence," 
and  he  carried  out  his  notion  thoroughly.  That 
Monday  was  one  of  the  hardest  days  in  the 
memory  of  the  White  Hussars.  They  were 
thrown  against  a  skeleton-enemy,  and  pushed 
forward,  and  withdrawn,  and  dismounted,  and 
"  scientifically  handled  "  in  every  possible  fashion 
over  dusty  country,  till  they  sweated  profusely. 
Their  only  amusement  came  late  in  the  day 
when  they  fell  upon  the  battery  of  Horse  Artil- 
lery and  chased  it  for  two  miles.  This  was  a 
personal  question,  and  most  of  the  troopers  had 
money  on  the  event  ;  the  Gunners  saying  openly 
that  they  had  the  legs  of  the  White  Hussars. 
They  were  wrong.  A  march-past  concluded  the 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  219 

campaign,  and  when  the  Regiment  got  hack  to 
their  Lines,  the  men  were  coated  with  dirt  from 
spur  to  chin-strap. 

The  White  Hussars  have  one  great  and  pe- 
culiar privilege.  They  won  it  at  Fontenoy,  I 
think. 

Many  Regiments  possess  special  rights  such 
as  wearing  collars  with  undress  uniform,  or  a 
bow  of  ribbon  between  the  shoulders,  or  red  and 
white  roses  in  their  helmets  on  certain  days  of 
the  year.  Some  rights  are  connected  with 
regimental  saints,  and  some  with  regimental 
successes.  All  are  valued  highly  ;  but  none  so 
highly  as  the  right  of  the  White  Hussars  to  have 
the  Band  playing  when  their  horses  are  being 
watered  in  the  Lines.  Only  one  tune  is  played, 
and  that  tune  never  varies.  I  don't  know  its 
real  name,  but  the  White  Hussars  call  it  : — 
11  Take  me  to  London  again."  It  sounds  very 
pretty.  The  Regiment  would  sooner  be  struck 
off  the  roster  than  forego  their  distinction. 

After  the  "  dismiss  "  was  sounded,  the  officers 
rode  off  home  to  prepare  for  stables  ;  and  the 
men  filed  into  the  lines,  riding  easy.  That  is  to 
say,  they  opened  their  tight  buttons,  shifted  their 
helmets,  and  began  to  joke  or  to  swear  as  the 
humor  took  them  ;  the  more  careful  slipping  off 
and  easing  girths  and  curbs.  A  good  trooper 
values  his  mount  exactly  as  much  as  he  values 
himself,  and  believes,  or  should  believe,  that  the 
two  together  are  irresistible  where  women  or 
men,  girls  or  guns,  are  concerned. 

Then  the  Orderly-Officer  gave  the  order  : — 
"Water  horses,"  and  the  Regiment  loafed  off  to 
the  squadron-troughs  which  were  in  rear  of  the 
stables  and  between  these  and  the  barracks 


220     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

There  were  four  huge  troughs,  one  for  each 
squadron,  arranged  en  echelon,  so  that  the  whole 
Regiment  could  water  in  ten  minutes  if  it  liked. 
But  it  lingered  for  seventeen,  as  a  rule,  while 
the  Band  played. 

The  Band  struck  up  as  the  squadrons  filed  off 
the  troughs,  and  the  men  slipped  their  feet  out 
of  the  stirrups  and  chaffed  each  other.  The  sun 
was  just  setting  in  a  big,  hot  bed  of  red  cloud, 
and  the  road  to  the  Civil  Lines  seemed  to  run 
straight  into  the  sun's  eye.  There  was  a  little 
dot  on  the  road.  It  grew  and  grew  till  it  showed 
as  a  horse,  with  a  sort  of  gridiron  thing  on  his 
back.  The  red  cloud  glared  through  the  bars 
of  the  gridiron.  Some  of  the  troopers  shaded 
their  eyes  with  their  hands  and  said  : — "  What 
the  mischief  'as  that  there  'orse  got  on  'im  ! " 

In  another  minute  they  heard  a  neigh  that 
every  soul — horse  and  man — in  the  Regiment 
knew,  and  saw,  heading  straight  towards  the 
Band,  the  dead  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hus- 
sars ! 

On  his  withers  banged  and  bumped  the  kettle- 
drums draped  in  crape,  and  on  his  back,  very 
stiff  and  soldierly,  sat  a  bare-headed  skeleton. 

The  band  stopped  playing,  and,  for  a  moment, 
there  was  a  hush. 

Then  some  one  in  E  troop — men  said  it  was 
the  Troop-Sergeant-Major — swung  his  horse 
round  and  yelled.  No  one  can  account  exactly 
for  what  happened  afterwards  ;  but  it  seems 
that,  at  least,  one  man  in  each  troop  set  an  ex- 
ample of  panic,  and  the  rest  followed  like  sheep. 
The  horses  that  had  barely  put  their  muzzles 
into  the  troughs  reared  and  capered  ;  but,  as 
soon  as  the  Band  broke,  which  it  did  when  the 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  221 

ghost  of  the  Drum-Horse  was  about  a  furlong 
distant,  all  hooves  followed  suit,  and  the  clatter 
of  the  stampede — quite  different  trom  the  orderly 
throb  and  roar  of  a  movement  on  parade,  or  the 
rough  horse-play  of  watering  in  camp — made 
them  only  more  terrified.  They  felt  that  the 
men  on  their  backs  were  afraid  of  something. 
When  horses  once  know  thai,  all  is  over  except 
the  butchery. 

Troop  after  troop  turned  from  the  troughs  and 
ran — anywhere  and  everywhere — like  spilt  quick- 
silver. It  was  a  most  extraordinary  spectacle, 
for  men  and  horses  were  in  all  stages  of  easiness, 
and  the  carbine-buckets  flopping  against  their 
sides  urged  the  horses  on.  Men  were  shouting 
and  cursing,  and  trying  to  pull  clear  of  the  Band 
which  was  being  chased  by  the  Drum-Horse 
whose  rider  had  fallen  forward  and  seemed  to 
be  spurring  for  a  wager. 

The  Colonel  had  gone  over  to  the  Mess  for  a 
drink.  Most  of  the  officers  were  with  him,  and 
the  Subaltern  of  the  Day  was  preparing  to  go 
down  to  the  lines,  and  receive  the  watering 
reports  from  theTroop-Sergeant-Majors.  When 
"  Take  me  to  London  again "  stopped,  after 
twenty  bars,  every  one  in  the  Mess  said  : — 
«•  What  on  earth  has  happened  ?  "  A  minute 
later,  they  heard  unmilitary  noises,  and  saw,  far 
across  the  plain,  the  White  Hussars  scattered, 
and  broken,  and  flying. 

The  Colonel  was  speechless  with  rage,  for  he 
thought  that  the  Regiment  had  risen  against 
him  or  was  unanimously  drunk.  The  Band,  a 
disorganized  mob,  tore  past,  and  at  its  heels 
labored  the  Drum-Horse — the  dead  and  buried 
Drum-Horse — with  the  jolting,  clattering  skele* 


222     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

ton.  Hogan-Yale  whispered  softly  to  Martyn : 
• — "  No  wire  will  stand  that  treatment,"  and  the 
Band,  which  had  doubled  like  a  hare,  came  back 
again.  But  the  rest  of  the  Regiment  was  gone, 
was  rioting  all  over  the  Province,  for  the  dusk 
had  shut  in  and  each  man  was  howling  to  his 
neighbor  that  the  Drum-Horse  was  on  his  flank. 
Troop-Horses  are  far  too  tenderly  treated  as  a 
rule.  They  can,  on  emergencies,  do  a  great 
deal,  even  with  seventeen  stone  on  their  backs. 
As  the  troopers  found  out. 

How  long  this  panic  lasted  I  cannot  say.  I 
believe  that  when  the  moon  rose  the  men  saw 
they  had  nothing  to  fear,  and,  by  twos  and  threes 
and  half-troops,  crept  back  into  Cantonments 
very  much  ashamed  of  themselves.  Meantime, 
the  Drum-Horse,  disgusted  at  his  treatment 
by  old  friends,  pulled  up,  wheeled  round,  and 
trotted  up  to  the  Mess  veranda-steps  for  bread. 
No  one  liked  to  run  ;  but  no  one  cared  to  go 
forward  till  the  Colonel  made  a  movement  and 
laid  hold  of  the  skeleton's  foot.  The  Band  had 
halted  some  distance  away,  and  now  came  back 
slowly.  The  Colonel  called  it,  individually  and 
collectively,  every  evil  name  that  occurred  to 
him  at  the  time  ;  for  he  had  set  his  hand  on  the 
bosom  of  the  Drum-Horse  and  found  flesh  and 
blood.  Then  he  beat  the  kettle-drums  with  his 
clenched  fist,  and  discovered  that  they  were  but 
made  of  silvered  paper  and  bamboo.  Next,  still 
swearing,  he  tried  to  drag  the  skeleton  out  of  the 
saddle,  but  found  that  it  had  been  wired  into  the 
cantle.  The  sight  of  the  Colonel,  with  his  arms 
round  the  skeleton's  pelvis  and  his  knee  in  the 
old  Drum-Horse's  stomach,  was  striking.  Not 
to  say  amusing.  He  worried  the  thing  off  in  a 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  223 

minute  or  two,  and  threw  it  down  on  the  ground, 
saying  to  the  Band  : — "  Here,  you  curs,  that's 
what  you're  afraid  of."  The  skeleton  did  not 
look  pretty  in  the  twilight.  The  Band-Sergeant 
seemed  to  recognize  it,  for  he  began  to  chuckle 
and  choke.  "  Shall  I  take  it  away,  sir  ?  "  said 
the  Band-Sergeant.  "  Yes,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"  take  it  to  Hell,  and  ride  there  yourselves  !  " 

The  Band-Sergeant  saluted,  hoisted  the  skele- 
ton across  his  saddle-bow,  and  led  off  to  the 
stables.  Then  the  Colonel  began  to  make  in- 
quiries for  the  rest  of  the  Regiment,  and  the 
language  he  used  was  wonderful.  He  would 
disband  the  Regiment — he  would  court-martial 
every  soul  in  it — he  would  not  command  such  a 
set  of  rabble,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  As  the 
men  dropped  in,  his  language  grew  wilder,  until 
at  last  it  exceeded  the  utmost  limits  of  free  speech 
allowed  even  to  a  Colonel  of  Horse. 

Martyn  took  Hogan-Yale  aside  and  suggested 
compulsory  retirement  from  the  service  as  a 
necessity  when  all  was  discovered.  Martyn  was 
the  weaker  man  of  the  two.  Hogan-Yale  put 
up  his  eyebrows  and  remarked,  firstly,  that  he 
was  the  son  of  a  Lord,  and  secondly,  that  he  was 
as  innocent  as  the  babe  unborn  of  the  theatrical 
resurrection  of  the  Drum-Horse. 

"My  instructions,"  said  Yale,  with  a  singu- 
larly sweet  smile,  "  were  that  the  Drum-Horse 
should  be  sent  back  as  impressively  as  possible. 
I  ask  you,  am  I  responsible  if  a  mule-headed- 
friend  sends  him  back  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
disturb  the  peace  of  mind  of  a  regiment  of  Her 
Majesty's  Cavalry  ?  " 

Martyn  said  : — ;"  You  are  a  great  man,  and 
will  in  time  become  a  General ;  but  I'd  give- 


224     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

my  chance  of  a  troop  to   be   safe    out    of  this 
affair." 

Providence  saved  Martyn  and  Hogan-Yale. 
The  Second-in-Command  led  the  Colonel  away 
to  the  little  curtained  alcove  wherein  the  Sub- 
alterns of  the  White  Hussars  were  accustomed 
to  play  poker  of  nights  ;  and  there,  after  many 
oaths  on  the  Colonel's  part,  they  talked  together 
in  low  tones.  I  fancied  that  the  Second-in-Com- 
mand must  have  represented  the  scare  as  the 
work  of  some  trooper  whom  it  would  be  hopeless 
to  detect ;  and  I  know  that  he  dwelt  upon  the 
sin  and  the  shame  of  making  a  public  laughing- 
stock of  the  scare. 

"They  will  call  us,"  said  the  Second-in-Com- 
mand, who  had  really  a  tine  imagination,  "  they 
will  call  us  the  '  Fly-by-Nights  ;'  they  will  call 
us  the  '  Ghost-Hunters  ; '  they  will  nickname  us 
from  one  end  of  the  Army  list  to  the  other.  All 
the  explanations  in  the  world  won't  make  out- 
siders understand  that  the  officers  were  away 
when  the  panic  began.  For  the  honor  of  the 
Regiment  and  for  your  own  sake  keep  this  thing 
quiet." 

The  Colonel  was  so  exhausted  with  anger  that 
soothing  him  down  was  not  so  difficult  as  might 
be  imagined.  He  was  made  to  see,  gently  and 
by  degrees,  that  it  \vas  obviously  impossible  to 
court-martial  the  whole  Regiment  and  equally 
impossible  to  proceed  against  any  subaltern  who, 
in  his  belief,  had  any  concern  in  the  hoax. 

"  But  the  beast's  alive  !  He's  never  been  shot 
at  all  !  "  shouted  the  Colonel.  "  It's  flat,  flagrant 
disobedience  !  I've  known  a  man  broke  for  less, 

d d  side  less.    They're  mocking  me,  I  tell  you, 

Mutman  !     They're  mocking  me  !  " 


The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars  225 

Once  more,  the  Second-in-Command  set  him- 
self  to  soothe  the  Colonel,  and  wrestled  with  him 
for  half-an-hour.  At  the  end  of  that  time  the 
Regimental  Sergeant-Major  reported  himself. 
The  situation  was  rather  novel  to  him  ;  but  he 
was  not  a  man  to  be  put  out  by  circumstances. 
He  saluted  and  said  :  "  Regiment  all  come 
back,  Sir."  Then,  to  propitiate  the  Colonel : — 
••  An'  none  of  the  horses  any  the  worse,  Sir." 

The  Colonel  only  snorted  and  answered  :— 
••  You'd  better  tuck  the  men  into  their  cots,  then, 
and  see  that  they  don't  wake  up  and  cry  in  the 
night."  The  Sergeant-Major  withdrew. 

His  little  stroke  of  humor  pleased  the  Colonel, 
and,  further,  he  felt  slightly  ashamed  of  the  lan- 
guage he  had  been  using.  The  Second-in-Com- 
mand worried  him  again,  and  the  two  sat  talk- 
ing far  into  the  night. 

Next  day  but  one,  there  was  a  Commanding 
Officer's  parade,  and  the  Colonel  harangued  the 
White  Hussars  vigorously.  The  pith  of  his 
speech  was  that,  since  the  Drum-Horse  in  his  old 
age  had  proved  himself  capable  of  cutting  up  the 
whole  Regiment,  he  should  return  to  his  post  of 
pride  at  the  head  of  the  Band,  but  the  Regiment 
were  a  set  of  ruffians  with  bad  consciences. 

The  White  Hussars  shouted,  and  threw  every- 
thing movable  about  them  into  the  air,  and  when 
the  parade  was  over,  they  cheered  the  Colonel 
till  they  couldn't  speak.  No  cheers  were  put  up 
for  Lieutenant  Hogan-Yale  who  smiled  very 
sweetly  in  the  background. 

Said  the  Second-in-Command  to  the  Colonel, 
unofficially : — 

••  These  little  things  ensure  popularity,  and  do 
not  the  least  afiect  discipline." 
IS 


226     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

"But  I  went  back  on  my  word, "said  the  Colo, 
nel. 

•'Never  mind,"  said  the  Second-in-Command. 
•'  The  White  Hussars  will  follow  you  anywhere 
from  to-day.  Regiments  are  just  like  women. 
They  will  do  anything  for  trinketry." 

A  week  later,  Hogan-Yale  received  an  extraor- 
dinary letter  from  some  one  who  signed  him- 
seif  "  Secretary,  Charity  and  Zeal,  3709,  E.  C.," 
and  asked  for  "  the  return  of  our  skeleton,  which 
we  have  reason  to  believe  is  in  your  possession." 

"Who  the  deuce  is  this  lunatic  who  trades  in 
bones  ?  "  said  Hogan-Yale, 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Sir,"  said  the  Band-Ser- 
geant, "  but  the  skeleton  is  with  me,  an'  I'll 
return  it  if  you'll  pay  the  carriage  into  the  Civil 
Lines.  There's  a  coffin  with  it,  Sir." 

Hogan-Yale  smiled  and  handed  two  rupees  to 
the  Band-Sergeant,  saying  : — "  Write  the  date  on 
the  skull,  will  you  ?  " 

If  you  doubt  this  story,  and  know  where  to 
go,  you  can  see  the  date  on  the  skeleton.  But 
don't  mention  the  matter  to  the  White  Hussars. 

I  happen  to  know  something  about  it,  because 
I  prepared  the  Drum-Horse  for  his  resurrection. 
He  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  skeleton  at  all. 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE  CASE 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE-CASE. 

In  the  daytime,  when  she  moved  about  me, 
In  the  night  when  she  was  sleeping  at  my  side,— 

I  vas  weaned,  I  was  wearied  of  her  presence. 

Day  by  day  and  night  by  night  I  grew  to  hate  her—- 
Would God  that  she  or  I  had  died ! 

Confessions. 

THERE  was  a  man  called  Bronckhorst — a 
three-cornered,  middle-aged  man  in  the  Army — • 
gray  as  a  badger,  and,  some  people  said,  with  a 
touch  of  country-blood  in  him.  That,  however, 
cannot  be  proved.  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  was  not 
exactly  young,  though  fifteen  years  younger  than 
her  husband.  She  was  a  large,  pale,  quiet 
woman,  with  heavy  eyelids,  over  weak  eyes,  and 
hair  that  turned  red  or  yellow  as  the  lights  fell 
on  it. 

Bronckhorst  was  not  nice  in  any  way.  He 
had  no  respect  for  the  pretty  public  and  private 
lies  that  make  life  a  little  less  nasty  than  it  is. 
His  manner  towards  his  wife  was  coarse.  There 
are  many  things — including  actual  assault  with 
the  clenched  fist — that  a  wife  will  endure  ;  but 
seldom  a  wife  can  bear — as  Mrs.  Bronckhorst 
bore — with  a  long  course  of  brutal,  hard  chaff, 
making  light  of  her  weaknesses,  her  headaches, 
her  small  fits  of  gayety,  her  dresses,  her  queer 
little  attempts  to  make  herself  attractive  to  her 
husband  when  she  knows  that  she  is  not  what 
she  has  been,  and — worst  of  all — the  love  that 
she  spends  on  her  children.  That  particular 
sort  of  heavy-handed  jest  was  specially  dear  to 
Bronckhorst.  I  suppose  that  he  had  first  slipped 

227 


228     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

into  it,  meaning  no  harm,  in  the  honeymoon, 
when  folk  find  their  ordinary  stock  of  endear- 
ments run  short,  and  so  go  to  the  other  extreme 
to  express  their  feelings.  A  similar  impulse 
makes  a  man  say  : — "  Hutt,  you  old  beast  !  " 
when  a  favorite  horse  nuzzles  his  coat-front. 
Unluckily,  when  the  reaction  of  marriage  sets  in, 
the  form  of  speech  remains,  and,  the  tenderness 
having  died  out,  hurts  the  wife  more  than  she 
cares  to  say.  But  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  was  devoted 
to  her  "  Teddy  "  as  she  called  him.  Perhaps 
that  was  why  he  objected  to  her.  Perhaps — 
this  is  only  a  theory  to  account  for  his  infamous 
behavior  later  on — he  gave  away  to  the  queer, 
savage  feeling  that  sometimes  takes  by  the  throat 
a  husband  twenty  years'  married,  when  he  sees, 
across  the  table,  the  same  same  face  of  his  wed- 
ded wife,  and  knows  that,  as  he  has  sat  facing 
it,  so  must  he  continue  to  sit  until  day  of  its 
death  or  his  own.  Most  men  and  all  women 
know  the  spasm.  It  only  lasts  for  three  breaths 
as  a  rule,  must  be  a  "  throw-back  "  to  times  when 
men  and  women  were  rather  worse  than  they 
are  now,  and  is  too  unpleasant  to  be  discussed. 
Dinner  at  the  Bronckhorst's  was  an  infliction 
few  men  cared  to  undergo.  Bronckhorst  took  a 
pleasure  in  saying  things  that  made  his  wife 
wince.  When  their  little  boy  came  in  at  dessert, 
Bronckhorst  used  to  give  him  half  a  glass  of 
wine,  and,  naturally  enough,  the  poor  little  mite 
got  first  riotous,  next  miserable,  and  was  removed 
screaming.  Bronckhorst  asked  if  that  was  the 
way  Teddy  usually  behaved,  and  whether  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  could  not  spare  some  of  her  time  to 
teach  the  "  little  beggar  decency."  Mrs.  Bronck- 
horst, who  loved  the  boy  more  than  her  own  life, 


The  Bronckhorst  Divorce-Case   229 

tried  not  to  cry — her  spirit  seemed  to  have  been 
broken  by  her  marriage.  Lastly,  Bronckhorst 
used  to  say  : — "  There  !  That'll  do,  that'll  do. 
For  God's  sake  try  to  behave  like  a  rational 
woman.  Go  into  the  drawing-room."  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  would  go,  trying  to  carry  it  all  off 
with  a  smile ;  and  the  guest  of  the  evening 
would  feel  angry  and  uncomfortable. 

After  three  years  of  this  cheerful  life — for  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  had  no  woman-friends  to  talk  to — 
the  Station  was  startled  by  the  news  that  Bronck- 
horst had  instituted  proceedings  on  the  criminal 
count,  against  a  man  called  Biel,  who  certainly 
had  been  rather  attentive  to  Mrs.  Bronckhorst 
whenever  she  had  appeared  in  public.  The 
utter  want  of  reserve  with  which  Bronckhorst 
treated  his  own  dishonor  helped  us  to  know  that 
the  evidence  against  Biel  would  be  entirely  cir- 
cumstantial and  native.  There  were  no  letters  ; 
but  Bronckhorst  said  openly  that  he  would  rack 
Heaven  and  Earth  until  he  saw  Biel  superin- 
tending the  manufacture  of  carpets  in  the  Cen- 
tral Jail.  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  kept  entirely  to  her 
house,  and  let  charitable  folks  say  what  they 
pleased.  Opinions  were  divided.  Some  two- 
thirds  of  the  Station  jumped  at  once  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Biel  was  guilty ;  but  a  dozen  men 
who  knew  and  liked  him  held  by  him.  Biel  was 
furious  and  surprised.  He  denied  the  whole 
thing,  and  vowed  that  he  would  thrash  Bronck- 
horst within  an  inch  of  his  life.  No  jury,  we 
knew,  could  convict  a  man  on  the  criminal  count 
on  native  evidence  in  a  land  where  you  can  buy 
a  murder-charge,  including  the  corpse,  all  com- 
plete for  fifty-four  rupees  ;  but  Biel  did  not  care 
to  scrape  through  by  the  benefit  of  a  doubt. 


230     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

He  wanted  the  whole  thing  cleared  :  but  as  he 
said  one  night: — "He  can  prove  anything  with 
servants'  evidence,  and  I've  only  my  bare  word." 
This  was  about  a  month  before  the  case  came 
on  ;  and  beyond  agreeing  with  Biel,  we  could 
do  little.  All  that  we  could  be  sure  of  was  that 
the  native  evidence  would  be  bad  enough  to 
blast  Biel's  character  for  the  rest  of  his  service  ; 
for  when  a  native  begins  perjury  he  perjures 
himself  thoroughly.  He  does  not  boggle  over 
details. 

Some  genius  at  the  end  of  the  table  whereat 
the  affair  was  being  talked  over,  said  : — "  Look 
here  !  I  don't  believe  lawyers  are  any  good. 
Get  a  man  to  wire  to  Strickland,  and  beg  him  to 
come  down  and  pull  us  through." 

Strickland  was  about  a  hundred  and  eighty 
miles  up  the  line.  He  had  not  long  been  married 
to  Miss  Youghal,  but  he  scented  in  the  telegram 
a  chance  of  return  to  the  old  detective  work  that 
his  soul  lusted  after,  and  next  night  he  came  in 
and  heard  our  story.  He  finished  his  pipe  and 
said  oracularly  : — "  We  must  get  at  the  evidence. 
Oorya  bearer,  Mussalman  khit  and  methrani- 
ayaht  I  suppose,  are  the  pillars  of  the  charge. 
I  am  on  in  this  piece  ;  but  I'm  afraid  I'm  getting 
rusty  in  my  talk." 

He  rose  and  went  into  Biel's  bedroom  where 
his  trunk  had  been  put,  and  shut  the  door.  An 
hour  later,  we  heard  him  say: — "I  hadn't  the 
heart  to  part  with  my  old  make-ups  when  I 
married.  Will  this  do  ?  "  There  was  a  lothely 
faquir  salaaming  in  the  doorway. 

•'Now  lend  me  fifty  rupees,"  said  Strickland, 
«•  and  give  me  your  Words  of  Honor  that  you 
won't  tell  my  Wife." 


The  Bronckhorst  Divorce-Case   231 

He  got  all  that  he  asked  for,  and  left  the  house 
while  the  table  drank  his  health.  What  he  did 
only  he  himself  knows.  A  faquir  hung  about 
Bronckhorst's  compound  for  twelve  days.  Then 
a  mehter  appeared,  and  when  Biel  heard  of  him, 
he  said  that  Strickland  was  an  angel  full-fledged. 
Whether  the  tnehter  made  love  to  Jhanki,  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst's  ayah,  is  a  question  which  concerns 
Strickland  exclusively. 

He  came  back  at  the  end  of  three  weeks,  and 
said  quietly  : — "  You  spoke  the  truth,  Biel.  The 
whole  business  is  put  up  from  beginning  to  end. 
'Jove!  It  almost  astonishes  me i  That  Bronck- 
horst-beast  isn't  fit  to  live." 

There  was  uproar  and  shouting,  and  Biel 
said  : — "  How  are  you  going  to  prove  it  ?  You 
can't  say  that  you've  been  trespassing  on  Bronck- 
horst's compound  in  disguise  !" 

••  No,"  said  Strickland.  Tell  your  lawyer-fool, 
whoever  he  is,  to  get  up  something  strong  about 
•  inherent  improbabilities  '  and  '  discrepancies  of 
evidence.'  He  won't  have  to  speak,  but  it  will 
make  him  happy.  I'm  going  to  run  this  business." 

Biel  held  his  tongue,  and  the  other  men  waited 
to  see  what  would  happen.  They  trusted  Strick- 
land as  men  trust  quiet  men.  When  the  case 
came  off  the  Court  was  crowded.  Strickland 
hung  about  in  the  veranda  of  the  Court,  till  he 
met  the  Mohammedan  khitmatgar.  Then  he 
murmured  a  faquir's  blessing  in  his  ear,  and 
asked  him  how  his  second  wife  did.  The  man 
spun  round,  and,  as  he  looked  into  the  eyes  of 
"  Estreeken  Sahib,"  his  jaw  dropped.  You  must 
remember  that  before  Strickland  was  married, 
he  was,  as  I  have  told  you  already,  a  power 
among  natives.  Strickland  whispered  a  rathe< 


232     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

coarse  venacular  proverb  to  the  effect  that  he 
was  abreast  of  all  that  was  going  on,  and  went 
into  the  Court  armed  with  a  gut  trainer's-whip. 

The  Mohammedan  was  the  first  witness  and 
Strickland  beamed  upon  him  from  the  back  of 
the  Court.  The  man  moistened  his  lips  with  his 
tongue  and,  in  his  abject  fear  of  "  Estreeken 
Sahib  "  the  faquir,  went  back  on  every  detail  of 
his  evidence — said  he  was  a  poor  man  and  God 
was  his  witness  that  he  had  forgotten  everything 
that  Bronckhorst  Sahib  had  told  him  to  say. 
Between  his  terror  of  Strickland,  the  Judge,  and 
Bronckhorst  he  collapsed,  weepirvg. 

Then  began  the  panic  among  the  witnesses. 
Jhanki,  the  ayah,  leering  chastely  behind  her  veil, 
turned  gray,  and  the  bearer  left  the  Court.  He 
said  that  his  Mama  was  dying  and  that  it  was 
not  wholesome  for  any  man  to  lie  unthriftily  in 
the  presence  of  "  Estreeken  Sahib." 

Biel  said  politely  to  Bronckhorst : — "  Your 
witnesses  don't  seem  to  work.  Haven't  you 
any  forged  letters  to  produce  ?  "  But  Bronck- 
horst was  swaying  to  and  fro  in  his  chair,  and 
there  was  a  dead  pause  after  Biel  had  been 
called  to  order. 

Bronckhorst's  Counsel  saw  the  look  on  his 
client's  face,  and  without  more  ado,  pitched  his 
papers  on  the  little  green  baize  table,  and  mum- 
bled something  about  having  been  misinformed. 
The  whole  Court  applauded  wildly,  like  soldiers 
at  a  theater,  and  the  Judge  began  to  say  what 
he  thought. 

Biel  came  out  of  the  place,  and  Strickland 
dropped  a  gut  trainer's-whip  in  the  veranda. 
Ten  minutes  later,  Beil  was  cutting  Bronckhorst 


The  Bronckhorst  Divorce-Case  233 

into  ribbons  behind  the  old  Court  cells,  quietly 
and  without  scandal.  What  was  left  of  Bronck- 
horst was  sent  home  in  a  carriage  ;  and  his  wife 
wept  over  it  and  nursed  it  into  a  man  again. 

Later  on,  after  Biel  had  managed  to  hush  up 
the  counter-charge  against  Bronckhorst  of  fabri- 
cating false  evidence,  Mrs.  Bronckhorst,  with  her 
faint,  watery  smile,  said  that  there  had  been  a 
mistake,  but  it  wasn't  her  Teddy's  fault  alto- 
gether. She  would  wait  till  her  Teddy  came 
back  to  her.  Perhaps  he  had  grown  tired  of 
her,  or  she  had  tried  his  patience,  and  perhaps 
we  wouldn't  cut  her  any  more,  and  perhaps  the 
mothers  would  let  their  children  play  with  "little 
Teddy"  again.  He  was  so  lonely.  Then  the 
Station  invited  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  everywhere, 
until  Bronckhorst  was  fit  to  appear  in  public 
when  he  went  Home  and  took  his  wife  with  him. 
According  to  the  latest  advices,  her  Teddy  did 
"  come  back  to  her,"  and  they  are  moderately 
happy.  Though,  of  course,  he  can  never  forgive 
her  the  thrashing  that  she  was  the  indirect  means 
of  getting  for  him. 

What  Biel  wants  to  know  is  : — "  Why  didn't  I 
press  home  the  charge  against  the  Bronckhorst- 
brute,  and  have  him  run  in  ?  " 

What  Mrs.  Strickland  wants  to  know  is  : — 
"  How  did  my  husband  bring  such  a  lovely, 
lovely  Waler  from  your  Station  ?  I  know  all  his 
money-affairs  ;  and  I'm  certain^  didn't  buy  it." 

What  I  want  to  know  is  : — "  How  do  women 
like  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  come  to  marry  men  like 
Bronckhorst  ?  " 

And  my  conundrum  is  the  most  unanswerable 
of  the  three. 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI. 

And  the  years  went  on,  as  the  years  must  do  j 
But  our  great  Diana  was  always  new — 
Fresh,and  blooming,  and  blonde,  and  fair, 
With  azure  eyes  and  with  aureate  hair; 
And  all  the  folk,  as  they  came  or  went, 
Offered  her  praise  to  her  heart's  content. 

Diana  of  Ephesiu. 

SHE  had  nothing  to  do  with  Number  Eighteen 
in  the  Braccio  Nuovo  of  the  Vatican,  between 
Visconti's  Ceres  and  the  God  of  the  Nile.  She 
was  purely  an  Indian  deity — an  Anglo-Indian 
deity,  that  is  to  say — and  we  called  her  the 
Venus  Annodomini,  to  distinguish  her  from  other 
Annodominis  of  the  same  everlasting  order. 
There  was  a  legend  among  the  Hills  that  she 
had  once  been  young ;  but  no  living  man  was 
prepared  to  come  forward  and  say  boldly  that  the 
legend  was  true.  Men  rode  up  to  Simla,  and 
stayed,  and  went  away  and  made  their  name  and 
did  their  life's  work,  and  returned  again  to  find 
the  Venus  Annodomini  exactly  as  they  had  left 
her.  She  was  as  immutable  as  the  Hills.  But 
not  quite  so  green.  All  that  a  girl  of  eighteen 
could  do  in  the  way  of  riding,  walking,  dancing, 
picnicking  and  over-exertion  generally,  the  Venus 
Annodomini  did,  and  showed  no  sign  of  fatigue 
or  trace  of  weariness.  Besides  perpetual  youth, 
she  had  discovered,  men  said,  the  secret  of  per- 
petual health  ;  and  her  fame  spread  about  the 
land.  From  a  mere  woman,  she  grew  to  be  an 
Institution,  insomuch  that  no  young  man  could 
be  said  to  be  properly  formed,  who  had  not,  at 
some  time  or  another,  worshiped  at  the  shrina 
234 


Venus  Annodomini          235 

of  the  Venus  Annodomini.  There  was  no  one 
like  her,  though  there  were  many  imitations. 
Six  years  in  her  eyes  were  no  more  than  six 
months  to  ordinary  women  ;  and  ten  made  less 
visible  impression  on  her  than  does  a  week's 
fever  on  an  ordinary  woman.  Every  one  ado  red 
her,  and  in  return  she  was  pleasant  and  court- 
eous to  nearly  every  one.  Youth  had  been  a 
habit  of  hers  for  so  long,  that  she  could  not  part 
with  it — never  realized,  in  fact,  the  necessity  of 
parting  with  it — and  took  for  her  more  chosen 
associates  young  people. 

Among  the  worshipers  ot  the  Venus  An- 
nodomini was  young  Gayerson.  "  Very  Young 
Gayerson,"  he  was  called  to  distinguish  him 
from  his  father  "  Young "  Gayerson,  a  Bengal 
Civilian,  who  affected  the  customs — as  he  had 
the  heart — of  youth.  "  Very  Young  "  Gayerson 
was  not  content  to  worship  placidly  and  for 
form's  sake,  as  the  other  young  men  did,  or  to 
accept  a  ride  or  a  dance,  or  a  talk  from  the 
Venus  Annodomini  in  a  properly  humble  and 
thankful  spirit.  He  was  exacting,  and,  there- 
fore, the  Venus  Annodomini  repressed  him.  He 
worried  himself  nearly  sick  in  a  futile  sort  of 
way  over  her ;  and  his  devotion  and  earnestness 
made  him  appear  either  shy  or  boisterous  or 
rude,  as  his  mood  might  vary,  by  the  side  of  the 
older  men  who,  with  him,  bowed  before  the 
Venus  Annodomini.  She  was  sorry  for  him. 
He  reminded  her  of  a  lad  who,  three-and-twenty 
years  ago,  had  professed  a  boundless  devotion 
for  her,  and  for  whom  in  return  she  had  felt 
something  more  than  a  week's  weakness.  But 
that  lad  had  fallen  away  and  married  another 
woman  less  than  a  year  after  he  had  worshiped 


236     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

her  ;  and  the  Venus  Annodomini  had  almost — 
not  quite — forgotten  his  name.  "  Very  Young" 
Gayerson  had  the  same  big  blue  eyes  and  the 
same  way  of  pouting  his  underlip  when  he  was 
excited  or  troubled.  But  the  Venus  Annodomini 
checked  him  sternly  none  the  less.  Too  much 
zeal  was  a  thing  that  she  did  not  approve  of ; 
preferring  instead,  a  tempered  and  sober  tender- 
ness. 

"  Very  Young"  Gayerson  was  miserable,  and 
took  no  trouble  to  conceal  his  wretchedness. 
He  was  in  the  Army — a  Line  regiment  I  think, 
but  am  not  certain — and,  since  his  face  was  a 
looking-glass  and  his  forehead  an  open  book,  by 
reason  of  his  innocence,  his  brothers  in  arms 
made  his  life  a  burden  to  him  and  embittered 
his  naturally  sweet  disposition.  No  one  except 
"Very  Young "  Gayerson,  and  he  never  told 
his  views,  knew  how  old  "  Very  Young  "  Gayerson 
believed  the  Venus  Annodomini  to  be.  Perhaps 
he  thought  her  five  and  twenty,  or  perhaps  she 
told  him  that  she  was  this  age.  "  Very  Young  " 
Gayerson  would  have  forded  the  Gugger  in  flood 
to  carry  her  lightest  word,  and  had  implicit  faith 
in  her.  Every  one  liked  him,  and  every  one  was 
sorry  when  they  saw  him  so  bound  a  slave  of 
the  Venus  Annodomini.  Every  one,  too,  ad- 
mitted that  it  was  not  her  fault  ;  for  the  Venus 
Annodomini  differed  from  Mrs.  Hauksbee  and 
Mrs.  Reiver  in  this  particular — she  never  moved 
a  finger  to  attract  any  one  ;  but,  like  Ninon  de 
1'Enclos,  all  men  were  attracted  to  her.  One 
could  admire  and  respect  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  de- 
spise and  avoid  Mrs.  Reiver,  but  one  was  forced 
to  adore  the  Venus  Annodomini. 

"  Very  Young  "  Gayerson's  papa  held  a  divi« 


Venus  Annodomini         237 

5ion  or  a  Collectorate  or  something-  administra- 
tive in  a  particularly  unpleasant  part  of  Bengal 
— full  of  Babus  who  edited  newspapers  proving 
that  "  Young  "  Gayerson  was  a  "  Nero  "  and  a 
"  Scylla  "  and  a  "  Charybdis  " ;  and,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  Babus,  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
dysentery  and  cholera  abroad  for  nine  months 
of  the  year.  "  Young  "  Gayerson — he  was  about 
five  and  forty — rather  liked  Babus,  they  amused 
him,  but  he  objected  to  dysentery,  and  when  he 
could  get  away,  went  to  Darjilling  for  the  most 
part.  This  particular  season  he  fancied  that 
he  would  come  up  to  Simla  and  see  his  boy. 
The  boy  was  not  altogether  pleased.  He  told 
the  Venus  Annodomini  that  his  father  was  com- 
ing up,  and  she  flushed  a  little  and  said  that  she 
should  be  delighted  to  make  his  acquaintance. 
Then  she  looked  long  and  thoughtfully  at  "Very 
Young"  Gayerson  ;  because  she  was  very,  very 
sorry  for  him,  and  he  was  a  very,  very  big  idiot. 

"  My  daughter  is  coming  out  in  a  fortnight, 
Mr.  Gayerson,"  she  said. 

"Your  what!"  said  he. 

"  Daughter,"  said  the  Venus  Annodomini. 
"  She's  been  out  for  a  year  at  Home  already, 
and  I  want  her  to  see  a  little  of  India.  She  is 
nineteen  and  a  very  sensible  nice  girl  I  believe." 

"  Very  Young  "  Gayerson,  who  was  a  short 
twenty-two  years  old,  nearly  fell  out  of  his  chair 
with  astonishment ;  for  he  had  persisted  in  be- 
lieving, against  all  belief,  in  the  youth  of  the 
Venus  Annodomini.  She,  with  her  back  to  the 
curtained  window,  watched  the  effect  of  her  sen- 
tences and  smiled. 

"  Very  Young "  Gayerson's  papa  came  up 
twelve  days  later,  and  had  not  been  in  Simla 


238     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

four  and  twenty  hours,  before  two  men,  old  ac- 
quaintances of  his,  had  told  him  how  "  Very 
Young"  Gayerson  had  been  conducting  himself. 

••Young"  Gayerson  laughed  a  good  deal,  and 
inquired  who  the  Venus  Annodomini  might  be. 
Which  proves  that  he  had  been  living  in  Bengal 
where  nobody  knows  anything  except  the  rate  of 
Exchange.  Then  he  said  "  boys  will  be  boys," 
and  spoke  to  his  son  about  the  matter.  "  Very 
Young"  Gayerson  said  that  he  felt  wretched  and 
unhappy;  and  "  Young"  Gayerson  said  that  he 
repented  of  having  helped  to  bring  a  fool  into 
the  world.  He  suggested  that  his  son  had  bet- 
ter cut  his  leave  short  and  go  down  to  his  duties. 
This  led  to  an  unfilial  answer,  and  relations  were 
strained,  until  "Young"  Gayerson  demanded 
that  they  should  call  on  the  Venus  Annodomini. 
«•  Very  Young  "  Gayerson  went  with  his  papa, 
feeling,  somehow,  uncomfortable  and  small. 

The  Venus  Annodomini  received  them  gra- 
ciously and  "Young"  Gayerson  said: — "By 
Jove!  It's  Kitty!"  "Very  Young"  Gayerson 
would  have  listened  for  an  explanation,  if  his 
time  had  not  been  taken  up  with  trying  to  talk 
to  a  large,  handsome,  quiet,  well-dressed  girl — 
introduced  to  him  by  the  Venus  Annodomini  as 
her  daughter.  She  was  far  older  in  manner, 
style  and  repose  than  "  Very  Young"  Gayerson  ; 
and,  as  he  realized  this  thing,  he  felt  sick. 

Presently,  he  heard  the  Venus  Annodomini 
saying  : — "  Do  you  know  that  your  son  is  one  of 
my  most  devoted  admirers  ?  " 

«•  I  don't  wonder,"  said  "Young"  Gayerson. 
Here  he  raised  his  voice  : — ••  He  follows  his 
father's  footsteps.  Didn't  I  worship  the  ground 
you  trod  on,  ever  so  long  ago,  Kitty — and  you 


Venus  Annodomini          239 

haven't  changed  since  then.     How  strange  it  all 
seems  ! " 

"Very  Young"  Gayerson  said  nothing.  His 
conversation  with  the  daughter  of  the  Venus 
Annodomini  was,  through  the  rest  of  the  call, 
fragmentary  and  disjointed. 

«'  At  five  to-morrow  then,"  said  the  Venus  An- 
nodomini. "  And  mind  you  are  punctual." 

"  At  five  punctually,"  said  "  Young  "  Gayer- 
son.  "  You  can  lend  your  old  father  a  horse,  I 
dare  say,  youngster,  can't  you  ?  I'm  going  for 
a  ride  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"Certainly,"  said  "Very  Young"  Gayerson. 
"  I  am  going  down  to-morrow  morning.  My 
ponies  are  at  your  service,  Sir." 

The  Venus  Annodomini  looked  at  him  across 
the  half-light  of  the  room,  and  her  big  gray  eyes 
filled  with  moisture.  She  rose  and  shook  hands 
with  him. 

"  Good-by,  Tom,"  whispered  the  Venus  Anno- 
domini. 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE. 

Little  Blind  Fish,  thou  art  marvelous  wise, 
Little  Blind  Fish,  who  put  out  thy  eyes? 
Open  thine  ears  while  I  whisper  my  wish — 
Bring  me  a  lover,  thou  little  Blind  Fish. 

The  Charm  of  the  Bisara. 

SOME  natives  say  that  it  came  from  the  other 
side  of  Kulu,  where  the  eleven-inch  Temple  Sap- 
phire is.  Others  that  it  was  made  at  the  Devil- 
Shrine  of  Ao-Chung-  in  Thibet,  was  stolen  by  a 
Kafir,  from  him  by  a  Gurkha,  from  him  again 
by  a  Lahouli,  from  him  by  a  khitmatgar,  and 
by  this  latter  sold  to  an  Englishman,  so  all  its 
virtue  was  lost :  because,  to  work  properly,  the 
Bisara  of  Pooree  must  be  stolen — with  bloodshed 
if  possible,  but,  at  any  rate,  stolen. 

These  stories  of  the  coming  into  India  are  all 
false.  It  was  made  at  Pooree  ages  since — the 
manner  of  its  making  would  rill  a  small  book — 
was  stolen  by  one  of  the  Temple  dancing-girls 
there,  for  her  own  purposes,  and  then  passed  on 
from  hand  to  hand,  steadily  northward,  till  it 
reached  Hanla  :  always  bearing  the  same  name 
— the  Bisara  of  Pooree.  In  shape  it  is  a  tiny, 
square  box  of  silver,  studded  outside  with  eight 
small  balas-rubies.  Inside  the  box,  which  opens 
with  a  spring,  is  a  little,  eyeless  fish,  carved  from 
some  sort  of  dark,  shiny  nut  and  wrapped  in  a 
shred  of  faded  gold-cloth.  That  is  the  Bisara  of 
Pooree,  and  it  were  better  for  a  man  to  take  a 
king  cobra  in  his  hand  than  to  touch  the  Bisara 
oi  Pooree. 
240 


The  Bisara  of  Pooree        241 

All  kinds  of  magic  are  out  of  date,  and  done 
away  with  except  in  India  where  nothing  changes 
in  spite  of  the  shiny,  toy-scum  stuff  that  people 
call  •'  civilization."  Any  man  who  knows  about 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree  will  tell  you  what  its  powers 
are — always  supposing  that  it  has  been  honestly 
stolen.  It  is  the  only  regularly  working,  trust- 
worthy love-charm  in  the  country,  with  one  ex- 
ception. 

[The  other  charm  is  in  the  hands  of  a  trooper 
of  the  Nizam's  Horse,  at  a  place  called  Tuprani, 
due  north  of  Hyderabad.]  This  can  be  de- 
pended upon  for  a  fact.  Some  one  else  may  ex- 
plain it. 

If  the  Bisara  be  not  stolen,  but  given  or  bought 
or  found,  it  turns  against  its  owner  in  three 
years,  and  leads  to  ruin  or  death.  This  is 
another  fact  which  you  may  explain  when  you 
have  time.  Meanwhile,  you  can  laugh  at  it.  At 
present,  the  Bisara  is  safe  on  an  ekfca-pony's 
neck,  inside  the  blue  bead-necklace  that  keeps 
off  the  Evil-eye.  If  the  ekka-<\r\\zr  ever  finds  it, 
and  wears  it,  or  gives  it  to  his  wife,  I  am  sorry 
for  him. 

A  very  dirty  hill-cooly  woman,  with  goitre, 
owned  it  at  Theog  in  1884.  It  came  into  Simla 
from  the  north  before  Churton's  khitmatgar 
bought  it,  and  sold  it,  for  three  times  its  silver- 
value,  to  Churton,  who  collected  curiosities.  The 
servant  knew  no  more  what  he  had  bought  than 
the  master  ;  but  a  man  looking  over  Churton's 
collection  of  curiosities — Churton  was  an  Assist- 
ant Commissioner  by  the  way — saw  and  held  his 
tongue.  He  was  an  Englishman ;  but  knew 
how  to  believe.  Which  shows  that  he  was  dif- 
ferent from  most  Englishmen.  He  knew  that  it 
16 


242     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

was  dangerous  to  have  any  share  in  the  little 
box  when  working  or  dormant ;  for  unsought 
Love  is  a  terrible  gift. 

Pack — "Grubby"  Pack,  as  we  used  to  call 
him — was,  in  every  way,  a  nasty  little  man  who 
must  have  crawled  into  the  Army  by  mistake. 
He  was  three  inches  taller  than  his  sword,  but 
not  hall"  so  strong.  And  the  sword  was  a  fifty- 
shilling,  tailor-made  one.  Nobody  liked  him,  and, 
I  suppose,  it  was  his  wizenedness  and  worthless- 
ness  that  made  him  fall  so  hopelessly  in  love  with 
Miss  Hollis,  who  was  good  and  sweet,  and  five 
foot  seven  in  her  tennis-shoes.  He  was  not  con- 
tent with  falling  in  love  quietly,  but  brought  all 
the  strength  of  his  miserable  little  nature  into  the 
business.  If  he  had  not  been  so  objectionable, 
one  might  have  pitied  him.  He  vapored,  and 
fretted,  and  fumed,  and  trotted  up  and  clown,  and 
tried  to  make  himself  pleasing  in  Miss  Hollis's 
big,  quiet,  gray  eyes,  and  failed.  It  was  one  of 
the  cases  that  you  sometimes  meet,  even  in  this 
country  where  we  marry  by  Code,  of  a  really 
blind  attachment  all  on  one  side,  without  the 
faintest  possibility  of  return.  Miss  Hollis  looked 
on  Pack  as  some  sort  of  vermin  running  about 
the  road.  He  had  no  prospects  beyond  Captain's 
pay,  and  no  wits  to  help  that  out  by  one  anna. 
In  a  large-sized  man,  love  like  this  would  have 
been  touching.  In  a  good  man  it  would  have 
been  grand.  He  being  what  he  was,  it  was  only 
a  nuisance. 

You  will  believe  this  much.  What  you  will 
not  believe,  is  what  follows  :  Churton,  and  The 
Man  who  Knew  what  the  Bisara  was,  were 
lunching  at  the  Simla  Club  together.  Churton 
was  complaining  of  life  in  general,  iiis  best 


The  Bisara  of  Pooree        243 

mare  had  rolled  out  of  stable  down  the  hill  and 
had  broken  her  back  ;  his  decisions  were  being 
reversed  by  the  upper  Courts  more  than  an  As- 
sistant Commissioner  of  eight  years'  standing 
has  a  right  to  expect ;  he  knew  liver  and  fever, 
and,  for  weeks  past,  had  felt  out  of  sorts.  Alto- 
gether, he  was  disgusted  and  disheartened. 

Simla  Club  dining-room  is  built,  as  all  the 
world  knows,  in  two  sections,  with  an  arch- 
arrangement  dividing  them.  Come  in,  turn  to 
your  own  left,  take  the  table  under  the  window, 
and  you  cannot  see  any  one  who  has  come  in, 
turned  to  the  right,  and  taken  a  table  on  the 
right  side  of  the  arch.  Curiously  enough,  every 
word  that  you  say  can  be  heard,  not  only  by  the 
other  diner,  but  by  the  servants  beyond  the 
screen  through  which  they  bring  dinner.  This 
is  worth  knowing  :  an  echoing-room  is  a  trap  to 
be  forewarned  against. 

Half  in  fun,  and  half  hoping  to  be  believed, 
The  Man  who  Knew  told  Churton  the  story  of 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree  at  rather  greater  length 
than  I  have  told  it  to  you  in  this  place  ;  winding 
up  with  a  suggestion  that  Churton  might  as  well 
throw  the  little  box  down  the  hill  and  see  whether 
all  his  troubles  would  go  with  it.  In  ordinary 
ears,  English  ears,  the  tale  was  only  an  interest- 
ing bit  of  folk-lore.  Churton  laughed,  said  that 
he  felt  better  for  his  tiffin,  and  went  out.  Pack 
had  been  tiffining  by  himself  to  the  right  of  the 
arch,  and  had  heard  everything.  He  was  nearly 
mad  with  his  absurd  infatuation  for  Miss  Hollis, 
that  all  Simla  had  been  laughing  about. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  that,  when  a  man  hates  or 
loves  beyond  reason,  he  is  ready  to  go  beyond 
reason  to  gratify  his  feelings.  Which  he  would 


244     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

not  do  for  money  or  power  merely.  Depend 
upon  it,  Solomon  would  never  have  built  altars 
to  Ashtaroth  and  all  those  ladies  with  queer 
names,  if  there  had  not  been  trouble  of  some  kind 
in  his  zenana,  and  nowhere  else.  But  this  is 
beside  the  story.  The  facts  of  the  case  are  these  : 
Pack  called  on  Churton  next  day  when  Churton 
was  out,  left  his  card,  and  stole  the  Bisara  of 
Pooree  from  its  place  under  the  clock  on  the 
mantel-piece!  Stole  it  like  the  thief  he  was  by 
nature.  Three  days  later,  all  Simla  was  electri- 
fied by  the  news  that  Miss  Hollis  had  accepted 
Pack — the  shriveled  rat,  Pack  !  Do  you  desire 
clearer  evidence  than  this  ?  The  Bisara  of 
Pooree  had  been  stolen,  and  it  worked  as  it  had 
always  done  when  won  by  foul  means. 

There  are  three  or  four  times  in  a  man's  life 
when  he  is  justified  in  meddling  with  other 
people's  affairs  to  play  Providence. 

The  Man  who  Knew  felt  that  he  was  justified  ; 
but  believing'  and  acting  on  a  belief  are  quite 
different  things.  The  insolent  satisfaction  of 
Pack  as  he  ambled  by  the  side  of  Miss  Hollis, 
and  Churton's  striking  release  from  liver,  as  soon 
as  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  had  gone,  decided  the 
Man.  He  explained  to  Churton,  and  Churton 
laughed,  because  he  was  not  brought  up  to  be- 
lieve that  men  on  the  Government  House  List 
steal — at  least  little  things.  But  the  miraculous 
acceptance  by  Miss  Hollis  of  that  tailor,  Pack, 
decided  him  to  take  steps  on  suspicion.  He 
vowed  that  he  only  wanted  to  find  out  where  his 
ruby-studded  silver  box  had  vanished  to.  You 
cannot  accuse  a  man  on  the  Government  House 
List  of  stealing.  And  if  you  rifle  his  room,  you 
are  a  thief  yourself.  Churton,  prompted  by  The 


The  Bisara  of  Pooree        245 

Man  who  Knew,  decided  on  burglary.  If  he 
found  nothing  in  Pack's  room  ....  but  it  is 
not  nice  to  think  of  what  would  have  happened 
in  that  case. 

Pack  went  to  a  dance  at  Benmore — Benmore 
was  Benmore  in  those  days,  and  not  an  office — 
and  danced  fifteen  waltzes  out  of  twenty-two  with 
Miss  Hollis.  Churton  and  The  Man  took  all  the 
keys  that  they  could  lay  hands  on,  and  went  to 
Pack's  room  in  the  hotel,  certain  that  his  serv- 
ants would  be  away.  Pack  was  a  cheap  soul. 
He  had  not  purchased  a  decent  cash-box  to 
keep  his  papers  in,  but  one  of  those  native  imi- 
tations that  you  buy  for  ten  rupees.  It  opened 
to  any  sort  of  key,  and  there  at  the  bottom,  under 
Pack's  Insurance  Policy,  lay  the  Bisara  of 
Pooree  ! 

Churton  called  Pack  names,  put  the  Bisara  of 
Pooree  in  his  pocket,  and  went  to  the  dance  with 
The  Man.  At  least,  he  came  in  time  forsupper, 
and  saw  the  beginning  of  the  end  in  Miss  Hollis's 
eyes.  She  was  hysterical  after  supper,  and  was 
taken  away  by  her  Mama. 

At  the  dance,  with  the  abominable  Bisara  in 
his  pocket,  Churton  twisted  his  foot  on  one  of  the 
steps  leading  down  to  the  old  Rink,  and  had  to 
be  sent  home  in  a  'rickshaw,  grumbling.  He 
did  not  believe  in  the  Bisara  oi  Pooree  any  the 
more  for  this  manifestation,  but  he  sought  out 
Pack  and  called  him  some  ugly  names  ;  and 
"  thief"  was  the  mildest  of  them.  Pack  took  the 
names  with  the  nervous  smile  of  a  little  man  who 
wants  both  soul  and  body  to  resent  an  insult,  and 
went  his  way.  There  was  no  public  scandal. 

A  week  later,  Pack  got  his  definite  dismissal 
from  Miss  Hollis.  There  had  been  a  mistake  in 


246     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

the  placing  of  her  affections,  she  said.  So  he 
went  away  to  Madras,  where  he  can  do  no  great 
harm  even  if  he  lives  to  be  a  Colonel. 

Churton  insisted  upon  The  Man  who  Knew 
taking  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  as  a  gift.  The  Man 
took  it,  went  down  to  the  Cart-Road  at  once, 
found  an  eA/ta-pony  with  a  blue  bead-necklace, 
fastened  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  inside  the  necklace 
with  a  piece  of  shoe-string  and  thanked  Heaven 
that  he  was  rid  of  a  danger.  Remember,  in 
case  you  ever  find  it,  that  you  must  not  destroy 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree.  I  have  not  time  to  explain 
why  just  now,  but  the  power  lies  in  the  little 
wooden  fish.  Mister  Gubernatis  or  Max  Miiller 
could  tell  you  more  about  it  than  I. 

You  will  say  that  all  this  story  is  made  up. 
Very  well.  If  ever  you  come  across  a  little, 
silver,  ruby-studded  box,  seven-eighths  of  an  inch 
long  by  three-quarters  wide,  with  a  dark-brown 
wooden  fish,  wrapped  in  gold  cloth,  inside  it, 
keep  it.  Keep  it  for  three  years,  and  then  you 
will  discover  for  yourself  whether  my  story  is 
true  or  false. 

Better  still,  steal  it  as  Pack  did,  and  you  will 
be  sorry  that  you  had  not  killed  yourself  in  the 
beginning. 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED 
SORROWS 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS. 

"  If  I  can  attain  Heaven  for  a  pice,  why  should  you  be  envious  ? " 

Of  turn  Smoker's  Proverb. 

THIS  is  no  work  of  mine.  My  friend,  Gabral 
Misquitta,  the  half-caste,  spoke  it  all,  between 
moonset  and  morning,  six  weeks  before  he  died  ; 
and  I  took  it  down  from  his  mouth  as  he  an- 
swered my  questions,  so  : — 

It  lies  between  the  Copper-smith's  Gully  and 
the  pipe-stem  sellers'  quarter,  within  a  hundred 
yards,  too,  as  the  crow  flies,  of  the  Mosque  of 
Wazir  Khan.  I  don't  mind  telling  any  one  this 
much,  but  I  defy  him  to  find  the  Gate,  however 
well  he  may  think  he  knows  the  City.  You 
might  even  go  through  the  very  gully  it  stands 
in  a  hundred  times,  and  be  none  the  wiser.  We 
used  to  call  the  gully  "the  Gully  of  the  Black 
Smoke,"  but  its  native  name  is  altogether  differ- 
ent, of  course.  A  loaded  donkey  couldn't  pass 
between  the  walls  ;  and,  at  one  point,  just  before 
you  reach  the  Gate,  a  bulged  house-front  makes 
people  go  along  all  sideways. 

It  isn't  really  a  gate  though.  It's  a  house. 
Old  Fung-Tching  had  it  first  five  years  ago.  He 
was  a  boot-maker  in  Calcutta,  They  say  that 
he  murdered  his  wife  there  when  he  was  drunk. 
That  was  why  he  dropped  bazar-rum  and  took 
to  the  Black  Smoke  instead.  Later  on,  he  came 
up  north  and  opened  the  Gate  as  a  house  where 
you  could  get  your  smoke  in  peace  and  quiet. 
Mind  you,  it  was  a  pukka,  respectable  opium- 

247 


248     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

house,  and  not  one  of  those  stifling,  sweltering 
chandoo-khanas,  that  you  can  find  all  over  the 
City.  No  ;  the  old  man  knew  his  business  thor- 
oughly, and  he  was  most  clean  for  a  Chinaman. 
He  was  a  one-eyed  little  chap,  not  much  more 
than  five  feet  high,  and  both  his  middle  ringers 
were  gone.  All  the  same,  he  was  the  handiest 
man  at  rolling  black  pills  I  have  ever  seen. 
Never  seemed  to  be  touched  by  the  Smoke, 
either  ;  and  what  he  took  day  and  night,  night 
and  day,  was  a  caution.  I've  been  at  it  five 
years,  and  I  can  do  my  fair  share  ot  the  Smoke 
with  any  one  ;  but  I  was  a  child  to  Fung-Tching 
that  way.  All  the  same,  the  old  man  was  keen 
on  his  money,  very  keen  ;  and  that's  what  I  can't 
understand.  I  heard  he  saved  a  good  deal  be- 
fore he  died,  but  his  nephew  has  got  all  that 
now  ;  and  the  old  man's  gone  back  to  China  to 
be  buried. 

He  kept  the  big  upper  room,  where  his  best 
customers  gathered,  as  neat  as  a  new  pin.  In 
one  corner  used  to  stand  Fung-Tching's  Joss — 
almost  as  ugly  as  Fung-Tching — and  there  were 
always  sticks  burning  under  his  nose  ;  but  you 
never  smelt  'em  when  the  pipes  were  going 
thick.  Opposite  the  Joss  was  Fung-Tching's 
coffin.  He  had  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  savings 
on  that,  and  whenever  a  new  man  came  to  the 
Gate  he  was  always  introduced  to  it.  It  was 
lacquered  black,  with  red  and  gold  writings  on  it, 
and  I've  heard  that  Fung-Tching  brought  it  out 
all  the  way  from  China.  I  don't  know  whether 
that's  true  or  not,  but  I  know  that,  if  I  came  first 
in  the  evening,  I  used  to  spread  my  mat  just  at 
the  foot  of  it.  It  was  a  quiet  corner  you  see,  and 
a  sort  of  breeze  from  the  gully  came  in  at  the 


window  now  and  then.  Besides  the  mats,  there 
was  no  other  furniture  in  the  room — only  the 
coffin,  and  the  old  Joss  all  green  and  blue  and 
purple  with  age  and  polish. 

Fung-Tching  never  told  us  why  he  called 
the  place  "  The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows." 
(He  was  the  only  Chinaman  I  know  who  used 
bad-sounding  fancy  names.  Most  of  them  are 
flowery.  As  you'll  see  in  Calcutta.)  We  used' 
to  find  that  out  for  ourselves.  Nothing  grows 
on  you  so  much,  if  you're  while,  as  the  Black 
Smoke.  A  yello'w  fttan  is  made  different.  Opium 
doesn't  tell  on  him  scarcely  at  all  ;  but  white 
and  black  suffer  a  good  deal.  Of  course,  there 
are  some  people  that  the  Smoke  doesn't  touch 
any  more  than  tobacco  would  at  first.  They 
just  dose  a  bit,  as  one  would  fall  asleep  natu- 
rally, and  next  morning  they  are  almost  fit  lor 
work.  Now,  I  was  one  of  that  sort  when  I 
began,  but  I've  been  at  it  for  five  years  pretty 
steadily,  and  it's  different  now.  There  was  an 
old  aunt  ot  mine,  down  Agra  way,  and  she  left 
me  a  little  at  her  death.  About  sixty  rupees  a 
month  secured.  Sixty  isn't  much.  I  can  recol- 
lect a  time,  'seems  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
years  ago,  that  I  was  getting  my  three  hundred 
a  month,  and  pickings,  when  I  was  working  on 
a  big  timber  contract  in  Calcutta. 

I  didn't  stick  to  that  work  for  long.  The 
Black  Smoke  does  not  allow  of  much  other  busi- 
ness ;  and  even  though  I  am  very  little  affected 
by  it,  as  men  go,  I  couldn't  do  a  day's  work  now 
to  save  my  life.  After  all,  sixty  rupees  is  what 
I  want.  When  old  Fung-Tching  was  alive  he 
used  to  draw  the  money  for  me,  give  me  about 
half  of  it  to  live  on  (I  eat  very  little),  and  the 


250     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

rest  he  kept  himself.  I  was  free  of  the  Gate  at 
any  time  of  the  day  and  night,  and  could  smoke 
and  sleep  there  when  I  liked,  so  I  didn't  care.  I 
know  the  old  man  made  a  good  thing  out  of  it ; 
but  that's  no  matter.  Nothing  matters  much  to 
me  ;  and,  besides,  the  money  always  came  fresh 
and  fresh  each  month. 

There  was  ten  of  us  met  at  the  Gate  when  the 
place  was  first  opened.  Me,  and  two  Baboos 
from  a  Government  Office  somewhere  in  Anar- 
kulli,  but  they  got  the  sack  and  couldn't  pay  (no 
man  who  has  to  work  in  the  daylight  can  do  the 
Black  Smoke  for  any  length  of  time  straight  on)  ; 
a  Chinaman  that  was  Fung-Tching's  nephew  ;  a 
bazar-woman  that  had  got  a  lot  of  money  some- 
how ;  an  English  loafer — Mac-Somebody,  I  think, 
but  I  have  forgotten — that  smoked  heaps,  but 
never  seemed  to  pay  anything  (they  said  he  had 
saved  Fung-Tching's  life  at  some  trial  in  Cal- 
cutta when  he  was  a  barrister)  :  another  Eura- 
sian, like  myself,  from  Madras ;  a  half-caste 
woman,  and  a  couple  of  men  who  said  they  had 
come  from  the  North.  I  think  they  must  have 
been  Persians  or  Afghans  or  something.  There 
are  not  more  than  five  of  us  living  now,  but  we 
come  regular.  I  don't  know  what  happened  to 
the  Baboos  ;  but  the  bazar-woman  she  died  after 
six  months  of  the  Gate,  and  I  think  Fung-Tching 
took  her  bangles  and  nose-ring  for  himself.  But 
I'm  not  certain.  The  Englishman,  he  drank  as 
well  as  smoked,  and  he  dropped  off.  One  of  the 
Persians  got  killed  in  a  row  at  night  by  the  big 
well  near  the  mosque  a  long  time  ago,  and  the 
Police  shut  up  the  well,  because  they  said  it  was 
full  of  foul  air.  They  found  him  dead  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  So,  you  see,  there  is  only  me,  the 


Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows  251 

Chinaman,  the  half-caste  woman  that  we  call  the 
Memsahib  (she  used  to  live  with  Fung-Tching), 
the  other  Eurasian,  and  one  of  the  Persians. 
The  Memsahib  looks  very  old  now.  I  think  she 
was  a  young  woman  when  the  Gate  was  opened  ; 
but  we  are  all  old  for  the  matter  of  that.  Hun- 
dreds and  hundreds  of  years  old.  It  is  very  hard 
to  keep  count  of  time  in  the  Gate,  and  besides, 
time  doesn't  matter  to  me.  I  draw  my  sixty 
rupees  fresh  and  fresh  every  month.  A  very, 
very  long  while  ago,  when  I  used  to  be  getting 
three  hundred  and  fifty  rupees  a  month,  and 
pickings,  on  a  big  timber-contract  at  Calcutta,  I 
had  a  wife  of  sorts.  But  she's  dead  now.  Peo- 
ple said  that  I  killed  her  by  taking  to  the  Black 
Smoke.  Perhaps  I  did,  but  it's  so  long  since 
that  it  doesn't  matter.  Sometimes  when  I  first 
came  to  the  Gate,  I  used  to  feel  sorry  for  it ;  but 
that's  all  over  and  done  with  long  ago,  and  I 
draw  my  sixty  rupees  fresh  and  fresh  every 
month,  and  am  quite  happy.  Not  drunk  happy, 
you  know,  but  always  quiet  and  soothed  and 
contented. 

How  did  I  take  to  it  ?  It  began  at  Calcutta. 
I  used  to  try  it  in  my  own  house,  just  to  see  what 
it  was  like.  I  never  went  very  far,  but  I  think 
my  wife  must  have  died  then.  Anyhow,  I  found 
myself  here,  and  got  to  know  Fung-Tching.  I 
don't  remember  rightly  how  that  came  about ; 
but  he  told  me  of  the  Gate  and  I  used  to  go  there, 
and,  somehow,  I  have  never  got  away  from  it 
since.  Mind  you,  though,  the  Gate  was  a  re- 
spectable place  in  Fung-Tching's  time  where  you 
could  be  comfortable,  and  not  at  all  like  the 
chandoo-khanas  where  the  niggers  go.  No  ;  it 
was  clean  and  quiet,  and  not  crowded.  Of 


252     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

course,  there  were  others  besides  us  ten  and  the 
man  ;  but  we  always  had  a  mat  apiece,  with  a 
wadded  woolen  head-piece,  all  covered  with 
black  and  red  dragons  and  things  ;  just  like  the 
coffin  in  the  corner. 

At  the  end  of  one's  third  pipe  the  dragons  used 
to  move  about  and  fight.  I've  watched  'em, 
many  and  many  a  night  through.  I  used  to 
regulate  my  Smoke  that  way,  and  now  it  takes 
a  dozen  pipes  to  make  'em  stir.  Besides,  they 
are  all  torn  and  dirty,  like  the  mats,  and  old 
Fung-Tching  is  dead.  He  died  a  couple  of 
years  ago,  and  gave  me  the  pipe  I  always  use 
mow — a  silver  one,  with  queer  beasts  crawling 
wp  and  down  the  receiver-bottle  below  the  cup. 
Before  that,  I  think,  I  used  a  big  bamboo  stem 
with  a  copper  cup,  a  very  small  one,  and  a  green 
jade  mouthpiece.  It  was  a  little  thicker  than  a 
walking-stick  stem,  and  smoked  sweet,  very 
sweet.  The  bamboo  seemed  to  suck  up  the 
smoke.  Silver  doesn't,  and  I've  got  to  clean  it 
out  now  and  then,  that's  a  great  deal  of  trouble, 
but  I  smoke  it  for  the  old  man's  sake.  He  must 
have  made  a  good  thing  out  of  me,  but  he 
always  gave  me  clean  mats  and  pillows,  and  the 
best  stuff  you  could  get  anywhere. 

When  he  died,  his  nephew  Tsin-ling  took  up 
the  Gate,  and  he  called  it  the  "Temple  of  the 
Three  Possessions  ; "  but  we  old  ones  speak  of 
it  as  the  "  Hundred  Sorrows,"  all  the  same.  The 
nephew  does  things  very  shabbily,  and  I  think 
the  Memsahib  must  help  him.  She  lives  with 
him  ;  same  as  she  used  to  do  with  the  old  man. 
The  two  let  in  all  sorts  of  low  people,  niggers 
and  all,  and  the  Black  Smoke  isn't  as  good  as  it 
used  to  be.  I've  found  burnt  bran  in  my  pipe 


Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows  253 

over  and  over  again.  The  old  man  would  have 
died  if  that  had  happened  in  his  time.  Besides, 
the  room  is  never  cleaned,  and  all  the  mats  are 
torn  and  cut  at  the  edges.  The  coffin  is  gone — 
gone  to  China  again — with  the  old  man  and  two 
ounces  of  smoke  inside  it,  in  case  he  should  want 
'em  on  the  way. 

The  Joss  doesn't  get  so  many  sticks  burnt 
under  his  nose  as  he  used  to  ;  that's  a  sign  of 
ill-luck,  as  sure  as  Death.  He's  all  brown,  too, 
and  no  one  ever  attends  to  him.  That's  the 
Memsahib's  work,  I  know  ;  because,  when  Tsin- 
ling  tried  to  burn  gilt  paper  before  him,  she  said 
it  was  a  waste  of  money,  and,  if  he  kept  a  stick 
burning  very  slowly,  the  Joss  wouldn't  know  the 
difference.  So  now  we've  got  the  sticks  mixed 
with  a  lot  of  glue,  and  they  take  half-an-hour 
longer  to  burn,  and  smell  stinky.  Let  alone  the 
smell  of  the  room  by  itself.  No  business  can 
get  on  if  they  try  that  sort  of  thing.  The  Joss 
doesn't  like  it.  I  can  see  that.  Late  at  night, 
sometimes,  he  turns  all  sorts  of  queer  colors — 
blue  and  green  and  red — just  as  he  used  to  do 
when  old  Fung-Tching  was  alive  ;  and  he  rolls 
his  eyes  and  stamps  his  feet  like  a  devil. 

I  don't  know  why  I  don't  leave  the  place  and 
smoke  quietly  in  a  little  room  of  my  own  in  the 
bazar.  Most  like,  Tsin-ling  would  kill  me  if  I 
went  away — he  draws  my  sixty  rupees  now — and 
besides,  it's  so  much  trouble,  and  I've  grown  to 
be  very  fond  of  the  Gate.  It's  not  much  to  look 
at.  Not  what  it  was  in  the  old  man's  time,  but 
I  couldn't  leave  it.  I've  seen  so  many  come  in 
and  out.  And  I've  seen  so  many  die  here  on 
the  mats  that  I  should  be  afraid  of  dying  in  the 
open  now.  I've  seen  some  things  that  people 


254     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

would  call  strange  enough  ;  but  nothing  is  strange 
when  you're  on  the  Black  Smoke,  except  the 
Black  Smoke.  And  if  it  was,  it  wouldn't  matter. 
Fung-Tching  used  to  be  very  particular  about 
his  people,  and  never  got  in  any  one  who'd  give 
trouble  by  dying  messy  and  such.  But  the  neph- 
ew isn't  half  so  careful.  He  tells  everywhere 
that  he  keeps  a  "  first-chop "  house.  Never 
tries  to  get  men  in  quietly,  and  make  them  com- 
fortable like  Fung-Tching  did.  That's  why  the 
Gate  is  getting  a  little  bit  more  known  than  it 
used  to  be.  Among  the  niggers  of  course.  The 
nephew  daren't  get  a  white,  or,  for  matter  of 
that,  a  mixed  skin  into  the  place.  He  has  to 
keep  us  three  of  course — me  and  the  Memsahib 
and  the  other  Eurasian.  We're  fixtures.  But 
he  wouldn't  give  us  credit  for  a  pipeful — not  for 
anything. 

One  of  these  days,  I  hope,  I  shall  die  in  the 
Gate.  The  Persian  and  the  Madras  man  are 
terribly  shaky  now.  They've  got  a  boy  to  light 
their  pipes  for  them.  I  always  do  that  myself. 
Most  like,  I  shall  see  them  carried  out  before 
me.  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  outlive  the  Mem- 
sahib  or  Tsin-ling.  Women  last  longer  than 
men  at  the  Black-Smoke,  and  Tsin-ling  has  a 
deal  of  the  old  man's  blood  in  him,  though  he 
does  smoke  cheap  stuff.  The  bazar-woman  knew 
when  she  was  going  two  days  before  her  time  ; 
and  she  died  on  a  clean  mat  with  a  nicely 
wadded  pillow,  and  the  old  man  hung  up  her 
pipe  just  above  the  Joss.  He  was  always  fond 
of  her,  I  fancy.  But  he  took  her  bangles  just  the 
same. 

I  should  like  to  die  like  the  bazar-woman — on 
a  clean,  cool  mat  with  a  pipe  of  good  stuff  be- 


Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows  255 

tween  my  lips.  When  I  feel  I'm  going,  I  shall 
ask  Tsin-ling  for  them,  and  he  can  draw  my 
sixty  rupees  a  month,  fresh  and  fresh,  as  long  as 
he  pleases.  Then  I  shall  lie  back,  quiet  and 
comfortable,  and  watch  the  black  and  red  dragons 
have  their  last  big  fight  together  ;  and  then  .... 
Well,  it  doesn't  matter.  Nothing  matters 
much  to  me — only  I  wish  Tsin-ling  wouldn't  put 
bran  into  the  Black  Smoke. 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS. 

Oh  !  Where  would  I  be  when  my  froat  was  dry  ? 
Oh  1  Where  would  I  be  when  the  bullets  fly  ? 
Oh  I  Where  would  I  be  when  I  come  to  die  ? 

^171 


Gawd  send  us  a  trusty  chum  '. 

Barrack  Room  Ballad. 

MY  friends  Mulvaney  and  Ortheris  had  gone 
on  a  shooting-expedition  for  one  day.  Learoyd 
was  still  in  hospital,  recovering  from  fever  picked 
up  in  Burma.  They  sent  me  an  invitation  to 
join  them,  and  were  genuinely  pained  when  I 
brought  beer — almost  enough  beer  to  satisfy  two 
Privates  of  the  Line  ....  and  Me. 

"  'Twasn't  for  that  we  bid  you  welkim,  Sorr," 
said  Mulvaney  sulkily.  "  'Twas  for  the  pleasure 
av  your  comp'ny." 

Ortheris  came  to  the  rescue  with  : — "  Well,  'e 
won't  be  none  the  worse  for  bringin'  liquor  with 
'm.  We  ain't  a  file  o'  Dooks.  We're  bloomin' 
Tommies,  ye  cantankris  Hirishman  ;  an  'eres 
your  very  good  'ealth  !  " 

We  shot  all  the  forenoon,  and  killed  two  pariah- 
dogs,  lour  green  parrots,  sitting,  one  kite  by  the 
burning-ghaut,  one  snake  flying,  one  mud-turtle, 
and  eight  crows.  Game  was  plentiful.  Then 
we  sat  down  to  tiffin — "bull-mate  an'  bran- 
bread,"  Mulvaney  called  it — by  the  side  of  the 
river,  and  took  pot  shots  at  the  crocodiles  in  the 
intervals  of  cutting  up  the  food  with  our  only 
pocket-knife.  Then  we  drank  up  all  the  beer, 
256 


Madness  of  Private  Ortheris   257 

and  threw  the  bottles  into  the  water  and  fired  at 
them.  After  that,  we  eased  belts  and  stretched 
ourselves  on  the  warm  sand  and  smoked.  We 
were  too  lazy  to  continue  shooting. 

Ortheris  heaved  a  big  sigh,  as  he  lay  on  his 
stomach  with  his  head  between  his  fists.  Then 
he  swore  quietly  into  the  blue  sky. 

"  Fwhat's  that  for  ?  "  said  Mulvaney.  "  Have 
ye  not  drunk  enough  ?  " 

"  Tott'nim  Court  Road,  an*  a  gal  I  fancied 
there.  Wot's  the  good  of  sodgerin'  ?  " 

"  Orth'ris,  me  son,"  said  Mulvaney  hastily, 
"  'tis  more  than  likely  you've  got  throuble  in 
your  inside  with  the  beer.  I  feel  that  way  mesilf 
whin  my  liver  gets  rusty." 

Ortheris  went  on  slowly,  not  heeding  the  inter- 
ruption : — 

"  I'm  a  Tommy — a  bloomin',  eight-anna,  dog- 
stealin',  Tommy,  with  a  number  instead  of  a 
decent  name.  Wot's  the  good  o'  me  ?  If  I  'ad 
a  stayed  at  'Ome,  I  might  a'  married  that  gal  and 
a  kep'  a*  little  shorp  in  the  'Ammersmith*  Igh. — 
« S  Orth'ris,  Prac-ti-cal  Taxi-der-mist*  With  a 
stuff"  fox,  like  they  'as  in  the  Haylesbury  Dairies, 
in  the  winder,  an'  a  little  case  of  blue  and  yaller 
glass-heyes,  an'  a  little  wile  to  call,  « shorp  ! ' 
'  shorp  ! '  when  the  door  bell  rung.  As  it  his, 
I'm  on'y  a  Tommy — a  Bloomin',  Gawd-forsaken, 
Beer-swillin',  Tommy.  «  Rest  on  your  harms — 
'versed.  Stan'  at — hease ;'  Shun.  'Verse — 
harms.  Right  an'  lef — farm.  Slow — march. 
'A\t—/ronf.  Rest  on  your  harms — 'versed. 
With  blank-cartridge — load.'  An' that's  the  end 
o'  me."  He  was  quoting  fragments  from  Funeral 
Parties'  Orders. 

"  Stop  ut ! "  shouted  Mulvaney.   "  Whin  you've 

17 


258     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

fired  into  nothtn'  as  often  as  me,  over  a  better 
man  than  yoursilf,  you  will  not  make  a  mock  av 
thim  orders.  Tis  worse  than  whistlin'  the  Dead 
March  in  barricks.  An'  you  full  as  a  tick,  an' 
the  sun  cool,  an'  all  an'  all !  I  take  shame  for 
you.  You're  no  better  than  a  Pagin — you  an' 
your  firin'-parties  an'  your  glass-eyes.  Won't 
you  stop  ut,  Sorr  ?  " 

What  could  I  do  !  Could  I  tell  Ortheris  any- 
thing that  he  did  not  know  of  the  pleasures  of 
his  life  ?  I  was  not  a  Chaplain  nor  a  Subaltern, 
and  Ortheris  had  a  right  to  speak  as  he  thought 
fit. 

"  Let  him  run,  Mulvaney,"  I  said.  "  It's  the 
beer." 

"  No  !  Tisn't  the  beer,"  said  Mulvaney.  "  I 
know  fwhat's  comin'.  He's  tuk  this  way  now  an* 
agin,  an'  it's  bad — it's  bad — for  I'm  fond  av  the 
bhoy." 

Indeed,  Mulvaney  seemed  needlessly  anxious  ; 
but  I  knew  that  he  looked  after  Ortheris  in  a 
fatherly  way. 

"  Let  me  talk,  let  me  talk,"  said  Ortheris, 
dreamily.  "  D'you  stop  your  parrit  screamin'of 
a  'ot  day,  when  the  cage  is  a-cookin'  'is  pore 
little  pink  toes  orf,  Mulvaney  ?  " 

"  Pink  toes  !  D'ye  mane  to  say  you've  pink 
toes  under  your  bullswools,  ye  blandanderin,'" 
— Mulvaney  gathered  himself  together  for  a 
terrific  denunciation — "school-misthress  !  Pink 
toes  !  How  much  Bass  wid  the  label  did  that 
ravin'  child  dhrink  ?  " 

"  'Tain't  Bass,"  said  Ortheris.  "  It's  a  bitterer 
beer  nor  that.  It's  'ome-sickness  !  " 

"  Hark  to  him  !  An'  he's  goin'  Home  in  the 
Sherapis  in  the  inside  av  four  months  !  " 


Madness  of  Private  Ortheris   259 

"  I  don't  care.  It's  all  one  to  me.  'Ow  d'you 
know  I  ain't  'fraid  o'  dyin*  'fore  I  gets  my 
papers  ? "  He  recommenced,  in  a  sing-song 
voice,  the  Funeral  Orders. 

I  had  never  seen  this  side  of  Ortheris's  char- 
acter before,  but  evidently  Mulvaney  had,  and 
attached  serious  importance  to  it.  While  Or- 
theris babbled,  with  his  head  on  his  arms,  Mul- 
vaney whispered  to  me  : 

"  He's  always  tuk  this  way  whin  he's  been 
checked  overmuch  by  the  childher  they  make 
Sarjints  nowadays.  That  'an  havin*  nothin  to 
do.  I  can't  make  ut  out  anyways." 

"  Well,  what  does  it  matter  ?  Let  him  talk 
himself  through." 

Ortheris  began  singing  a  parody  of  "  The 
Ramrod  Corps,"  full  of  cheerful  allusions  to 
battle,  murder  and  sudden  death.  He  looked 
out  across  the  river  as  he  sang  ;  and  his  face 
was  quite  strange  to  me.  Mulvaney  caught  me 
by  the  elbow  to  ensure  attention. 

••  Matther  ?  It  matthers  everything  !  Tis 
some  sort  av  fit  that's  on  him.  I've  seen  ut. 
Twill  hould  him  all  this  night,  an'  in  the  middle 
av  it,  he'll  get  out  av  his  cot  and  gorakin'  in  the 
rack  for  his  "coutrements.  Thin  he'll  come  over 
to  me  an'  say  : — '  I'm  goin'  to  Bombay.  Answer 
for  me  in  the  mornin'.'  Thin  me  an*  him  will 
fight  as  we've  done  before — him  to  go  an'  me  to 
hould  him — an'  so  we'll  both  come  on  the  books 
for  disturbin'  in  barricks.  I've  belted  him,  an' 
I've  bruk  his  head,  an'  I've  talked  to  him,  but  'tis 
no  manner  av  use  whin  the  fit's  on  him.  He's 
as  good  a  bhoy  as  ever  stepped  whin  his  mind's 
clear.  I  know  fwhat's  comin',  though,  this  night 
in  barricks.  Lord  send  he  doesn't  loose  ofl  whin 


260     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

I  rise  for  to  knock  him  down.  Tis  that  that's 
in  my  mind  day  an'  night." 

This  put  the  case  in  a  much  less  pleasant  light, 
and  fully  accounted  for  Mulvaney's  anxiety.  He 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  coax  Ortheris  out  of  the 
•'  fit "  ;  for  he  shouted  down  the  bank  where  the 
boy  was  lying  : — 

"  Listen  now,  you  wid  the  '  pore  pink  toes  '  'an 
the  glass  eyes!  Did  you  shwim  the  Irriwaddy  at 
night,  behin'  me,  as  a  bhoy  shud  ;  or  were  you 
hidin'  under  a  bed,  as  you  was  at  Ahmed  Kheyl?  " 

This  was  at  once  a  gross  insult  and  a  direct 
lie,  and  Mulvaney  meant  it  to  bring  on  a  fight. 
But  Ortheris  seemed  shut  up  in  some  sort  of 
trance.  He  answered  slowly,  without  a  sign  of 
irritation,  in  the  same  cadenced  voice  as  he  had 
used  for  his  firing-party  orders  : — 

"  Hi  swum  the  Irriwaddy  in  the  night,  as  you 
know,  for  to  take  the  town  of  Lungtungpen, 
nakid  an'  without  fear.  Hand  where  I  was  at 
Ahmed  Kheyl  you  know,  and  four  bloomin' 
Pathans  know  too.  But  that  was  summat  to  do, 
an'  I  didn't  think  o'  dyin'.  Now  I'm  sick  to  go 
'Ome — go  'Ome — go  'Ome  !  No,  I  ain't  mammy 
sick,  because  my  uncle  brung  me  up,  but  I'm 
sick  for  London  again  ;  sick  for  the  sounds  of 
*er  ;  an*  the  sights  of  "er,  and  the  stinks  of  'er  ; 
orange-peel  and  hasphalte  an'  gas  comin*  in  over 
Vaux'all  Bridge.  Sick  for  the  rail  goin'  down  to 
Box'Ill,  with  your  gal  on  your  knee  an'  a  new 
clay  pipe  in  your  face.  That,  an*  the  Stran' 
lights  where  you  knows  ev'ryone,  an*  the  Copper 
that  takes  you  up  is  a  old  friend  that  tuk  you  up 
before,  when  you  was  a  little,  smitchy  boy,  lying 
loose  'tween  the  Temple  an'  the  Dark  Harches. 
No  bloomin'  guard-mountin',  no  bloomin'  rotten- 


Madness  of  Private  Ortheris   261 

stone,  nor  khaki,  an'  yourself  your  own  master 
with  a  gal  to  take  an'  see  the  Humaners  prac- 
tisin*  ahookin  dead  corpses  out  of  the  Serpentine 
o'  Sundays.  An'  I  lef  all  that  for  to  serve  the 
Widder  beyond  the  seas  where  there  ain't  no- 
•Aromen  and  there  ain't  no  liquor  worth  'avin', 
and  there  ain't  nothin'  to  see,  nor  do,  nor  say,. 
nor  feel,  nor  think.  Lord  love  you,  Stanley 
Orth'ris,  but  you're  a  bigger  bloomin'  fool  than 
the  rest  o'  the  reg'ment  and  Mulvaney  wired  to- 
gether !  There's  the  Widder  sittin*  at  'Ome 
with  a  gold  crown'd  on  'er  'ead  ;  and  'ere  am 
Hi,  Stanley  Orth'ris,  the  Widder's  property,  a 
rottin'  FOOL  ! " 

His  voice  rose  at  the  end  of  the  sentence,  and 
he  wound  up  with  a  six-shot  Anglo-Vernacular 
oath.  Mulvaney  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  me 
as  if  he  expected  that  I  could  bring  peace  to 
poor  Ortheris's  troubled  brain. 

I  remembered  once  at  Rawal  Pindi  having 
seen  a  man,  nearly  mad  with  drink,  sobered  by 
being  made  a  fool  of.  Some  regiments  may 
know  what  I  mean.  I  hoped  that  we  might 
shake  off  Ortheris  in  the  same  way,  though  he 
was  perfectly  sober  :  So  I  said  : — 

««  What's  the  use  of  grousing  there,  and  speak- 
ing against  The  Widow  ?  " 

"  I  didn't !  "  said  Ortheris.  "  S'elp  me  Gawd, 
I  never  said  a  word  agin  'er,  an*  I  wouldn't — not 
if  I  was  to  desert  this  minute  !  " 

Here  was  my  opening.  "  Well,  you  meant  to, 
anyhow.  What's  the  use  of  cracking  on  for 
nothing  ?  Would  you  slip  it  now  if  you  got  the 
chance  ? " 

"  On'y  try  me  !  "said  Ortheris,  jumping  to  his 
feet  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 


262     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

Mulvaney  jumped  too.  "  Fwhat  are  you  going 
to  do  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Help  Ortheris  down  to  Bombay  or  Karachi, 
whichever  he  likes.  You  can  report  that  he 
separated  from  you  before  tiffin,  and  left  his  gun 
on  the  bank  here  !  " 

"  I'm  to  report  that — am  I  ?  "  said  Mulvaney, 
slowly.  "  Very  well.  If  Orth'ris  manes  to  de- 
sert now,  and  will  desert  now,  an'  you,  Sorr, 
who  have  been  a  friend  to  me  an'  to  him,  will 
help  him  to  ut,  I,  Terence  Mulvaney,  on  my  oath 
which  I've  never  bruk  yet,  will  report  as  you 
say.  But" — here  he  stepped  up  to  Ortheris, 
and  shook  the  stock  of  the  fowling-piece  in  his 
face — "your  fistes  help  you,  Stanley  Orth'ris,  if 
ever  I  come  across  you  agin  !  " 

"  I  don't  care  !"  said  Ortheris.  "I'm  sick  o' 
this  dorg's  life.  Give  me  a  chanst.  Don't  play 
with  me.  Le'  me  go  !  " 

"Strip,"  said  I,  "and  change  with  me,  and 
then  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do." 

I  hoped  that  the  absurdity  of  this  would  check 
Ortheris  ;  but  he  had  kicked  off  his  ammunition- 
boots  and  got  rid  of  his  tunic  almost  before  I 
had  loosed  my  shirt-collar.  Mulvaney  gripped 
me  by  the  arm  : — 

"  The  fit's  on  him  :  the  fit's  workin'  on  him 
still.  By  my  Honor  and  Sowl,  we  shall  be  ac- 
cessiry  to  a  desartion  yet ;  only  twenty-eight 
days,  as  you  say,  Sorr,  or  fifty-six,  but  think  o' 
the  shame — the  black  shame  to  him  an'  me  ! " 
I  had  never  seen  Mulvaney  so  excited. 

But  Ortheris  was  quite  calm,  and,  as  soon  as 
he  had  exchanged  clothes  with  me,  and  I  stood 
up  a  Private  of  the  Line,  he  said  shortly : — 
"Now!  Come  or.  What  nex' ?  D'ye  mean 


Madness  of  Private  Ortheris   263 

fair.  What  must  I  do  to  get  out  o'  this  'ere  a 
Hell  ?  " 

I  told  him  that,  if  he  would  wait  for  two  or 
three  hours  near  the  river,  I  would  ride  into  the 
Station  and  come  back  with  one  hundred  rupees. 
He  would,  with  that  money  in  his  pocket,  walk 
to  the  nearest  side-station  on  the  line,  about  five 
miles  away,  and  would  there  take  a  first-class 
ticket  for  Karachi.  Knowing  that  he  had  no 
money  on  him  when  he  went  out  shooting,  his 
regiment  would  not  immediately  wire  to  the  sea- 
ports, but  would  hunt  for  him  in  the  native  vil- 
lages near  the  river.  Further,  no  one  would 
think  of  seeking  a  deserter  in  a  first-class 
carriage.  At  Karachi,  he  was  to  buy  white 
clothes  and  ship,  if  he  could,  on  a  cargo- 
steamer. 

Here  he  broke  in.  If  I  helped  him  to  Karachi, 
he  would  arrange  all  the  rest.  Then  I  ordered 
him  to  wait  where  he  was  until  it  was  dark 
enough  for  me  to  ride  into  the  station  without 
my  dress  being  noticed.  Now  God  in  His  wis- 
dom has  made  the  heart  of  the  British  Soldier, 
who  is  very  often  an  unlicked  ruffian,  as  soft  as 
the  heart  of  a  little  child,  in  order  that  he  may 
believe  in  and  follow  his  officers  into  tight  and 
nasty  places.  He  does  not  so  readily  come  to 
believe  in  a  "  civilian  "  but,  when  he  does,  he 
believes  implicitly  and  like  a  dog.  I  had  had 
the  honor  of  the  friendship  of  Private  Ortheris,  at 
intervals,  for  more  than  three  years,  and  we  had 
dealt  with  each  other  as  man  by  man.  Conse- 
quently, he  considered  that  all  my  words  were 
true,  and  not  spoken  lightly. 

Mulvaney  and  I  left  him  in  the  high  grass  near 
the  river-bank,  and  went  away,  still  keeping  to 


264     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

the  high   grass,  towards  my  horse.     The   shirt 
scratched  me  horribly. 

We  waited  nearly  two  hours  for  the  dusk  to 
fall  and  allow  me  to  ride  off.  We  spoke  of  Or- 
theris  in  whispers,  and  strained  our  ears  to  catch 
any  sound  from  the  spot  where  we  had  left  him. 
But  we  heard  nothing  except  the  wind  in  the 
plume-grass. 

"  I've  bruk  his  head,"  said  Mulvaney,  earnest- 
ly, "  time  an'  agin.  I've  nearly  kilt  him  wid  the 
belt,  an'  yet  I  can't  knock  thim  fits  out  ov  his 
soft  head.  No  !  An'  he's  not  soft,  for  he's  rea- 
sonable an'  likely  by  natur'.  Fwhat  is  ut  ?  Is 
ut  his  breedin'  which  is  nothin',  or  his  edukashin 
which  he  niver  got  ?  You  that  think  ye  know 
things,  answer  me  that." 

But  I  found  no  answer.  I  was  wondering 
how  long  Ortheris,  in  the  bank  of  the  river, 
would  hold  out,  and  whether  I  should  be  forced 
to  help  him  to  desert,  as  I  had  given  my 
word. 

Just  as  the  dusk  shut  down  and,  with  a  very 
heavy  heart,  I  was  beginning  to  saddle  up  my 
horse,  we  heard  wild  shouts  from  the  river. 

The  devils  had  departed  from  Private  Stanley 
Ortheris,  No.  22639,  ^.  Company.  The  loneli- 
ness, the  dusk,  and  the  waiting  had  driven  them 
out  as  I  had  hoped.  We  set  off  the  double  at 
and  found  him  plunging  about  wildly  through 
the  grass,  with  his  coat  off — my  coat  off,  I  mean. 
He  was  calling  for  us  like  a  madman. 

When  we  reached  him,  he  was  dripping  with 
perspiration,  and  trembling  like  a  startled  horse. 
We  had  great  difficulty  in  soothing  him.  He 
complained  that  he  was  in  civilian  kit,  and 
wanted  to  tear  my  clothes  off  his  body.  I  ordered 


Madness  of  Private  Ortheris   265 

him  to  strip,  and  we  made  a  second  exchange  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

The  rasp  of  his  own  "gray  back"  shirt  and  the 
squeak  of  his  boots  seemed  to  bring  him  to  him- 
self. He  put  his  hands  before  his  eyes  and 
said  : — 

"  Wot  was  it  ?  I  ain't  mad,  I  ain't  sunstrook, 
an'  I've  bin  an'  gone  an'  said,  an'  bin  an'  gone  an' 
done Wot  'ave  I  bin  'an  done  !  " 

"  Fwhat  have  you  done  ? "  said  Mulvaney. 
"  You've  dishgraced  yourself — though  that's  no 
matter.  You've  dishgraced  B.  Comp'ny,  an' 
worst  av  all,  you've  dishgraced  Me  !  Me  that 
taught  you  how  for  to  walk  abroad  like  a  man 
— when  you  was  a  dhirty  little,  fish-backed  little, 
whimperin'  little  recruity.  As  you  are  now, 
Stanley  Orth'ris  ! " 

Ortheris  said  nothing  for  awhile.  Then  he 
unslung  his  belt,  heavy  with  the  badges  of  half- 
a-dozen  regiments  that  his  own  had  lain  with, 
and  handed  it  over  to  Mulvaney. 

"  I'm  too  little  for  to  mill  you,  Mulvaney,"  said 
he,  "  an'  you've  strook  me  before  ;  but  you  can 
take  an'  cut  me  in  two  with  this  'ere  if  you  like." 

Mulvaney  turned  to  me. 

41  Lave  me  talk  to  him,  Sorr,"  said  Mulvaney. 

I  left,  and  on  my  way  home  thought  a  good 
deal  over  Ortheris  in  particular,  and  my  friend, 
Private  Thomas  Atkins,  whom  I  love,  in  general. 

But  I  could  not  come  to  any  conclusion  of  any 
kind  whatever. 


THE  STORY  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIN. 

"  Who  is  the  happy  man  ?  He  that  sees  in  his  own  house  at 
home  little  children  crowned  with  dust,  leaping  and  falling  and 
crying." 

Munichandra,  translated  by  Professor  Peterson. 

THE  polo-ball  was  an  old  one,  scarred,  chipped, 
and  dinted.  It  stood  on  the  mantelpiece  among 
the  pipe-stems  which  Imam  Din,  khitmatgar, 
was  cleaning  for  me. 

"  Does  the  Heaven-born  want  this  ball  ? ''  said 
Imam  Din  deferentially." 

The  Heaven-born  set  no  particular  store  by 
it ;  but  of  what  use  was  a  polo-ball  to  a  khit- 
matgar ? 

"  By  your  Honor's  favor,  I  have  a  little  son. 
He  has  seen  this  ball,  and  desires  it  to  play  with. 
I  do  not  want  it  for  myself." 

No  one  would  for  an  instant  accuse  portly  old 
Imam  Din  of  wanting  to  play  with  polo-balls. 
He  carried  out  the  battered  thing  into  the  ver- 
anda ;  and  there  followed  a  hurricane  of  joyful 
squeaks,  a  patter  of  small  feet,  and  the  thud- 
thud-thud  of  the  ball  rolling  along  the  ground. 
Evidently  the  little  son  had  been  waiting  outside 
the  door  to  secure  his  treasure.  But  how  had 
he  managed  to  see  that  polo-ball  ? 

Next  day,  coming  back  from  office  half  an 
hour  earlier  than  usual,  I  was  aware  of  a  small 
figure  in  the  dining-room — a  tiny,  plump  figure 
in  a  ridiculously  inadequate  shirt  which  came, 
perhaps,  half-way  down  the  tubby  stomach.  It 
wandered  round  the  room,  thumb  in  mouth, 
266 


The  Story  of  Muhammad  Din  267 

crooning  to  itself  as  it  took  stock  of  the  pictures. 
Undoubtedly  this  was  the  "  little  son." 

He  had  no  business  in  my  room,  of  course  ; 
but  was  so  deeply  absorbed  in  his  discoveries 
that  he  never  noticed  me  in  the  doorway.  I 
stepped  into  the  room  and  startled  him  nearly 
into  a  fit.  He  sat  down  on  the  ground  with  a 
gasp.  His  eyes  opened,  and  his  mouth  followed 
suit.  I  knew  what  was  coming,  and  fled,  fol- 
lowed by  a  long,  dry  howl  which  reached  the 
servants'  quarters  far  more  quickly  than  any 
command  of  mine  had  ever  done.  In  ten  seconds 
Imam  Din  was  in  the  dining-room.  Then  de- 
spairing sobs  arose,  and  I  returned  to  find  Imam 
Din  admonishing  the  small  sinner  who  was 
using  most  of  his  shirt  as  a  handkerchief. 

"This  boy,"  said  Imam  Din,  judicially,  "is  a 
budmash,  a  big  budmash.  He  will,  without 
doubt,  go  ihtjailkhana  for  his  behavior."  Re- 
newed yells  from  the  penitent,  and  an  elaborate 
apology  to  myself  from  Imam  Din. 

"  Tell  the  baby,"  said  I,  "  that  the  Sahib  is  not 
angry,  and  take  him  away."  Imam  Din  conveyed 
my  forgiveness  to  the  offender,  who  had  now 
gathered  all  his  shirt  round  his  neck,  stringwise, 
and  the  yell  subsided  into  a  sob.  The  two  set 
off  for  the  door.  "  His  name,"  said  Imam  Din, 
as  though  the  name  were  part  of  the  crime,  "  is 
Muhammad  Din,  and  he  is  a  budmash."  Freed 
from  present  danger,  Muhammad  Din  turned 
round,  in  his  father's  arms,  and  said  gravely  : — 
"  It  is  true  that  my  name  is  Muhammad  Din, 
Tahib,  but  I  am  not  a  budmash.  I  am  a  man  !  " 

From  that  day  dated  my  acquaintance  with 
Muhammad  Din.  Never  again  did  he  come 
into  my  dining-room,  but  on  the  neutral  ground 


268     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

of  the  compound,  we  greeted  each  other  with 
much  state,  though  our  conversation  was  con- 
fined to  "  Talaam,  Tahib  "  from  his  side,  and 
"  Salaam,  Muhammad  Din  ''  from  mine.  Daily 
on  my  return  from  office,  the  little  white  shirt, 
and  the  fat  little  body  used  to  rise  from  the  shade 
of  the  creeper-covered  trellis  where  they  had 
been  hid  ;  and  daily  I  checked  my  horse  here, 
that  my  salutation  might  not  be  slurred  over  or 
given  unseemly. 

Muhammad  Din  never  had  any  companions. 
He  used  to  trot  about  the  compound,  in  and  out 
of  the  castor-oil  bushes,  on  mysterious  errands 
of  his  own.  One  day  I  stumbled  upon  some  of 
his  handiwork  far  down  the  ground.  He  had 
half  buried  the  polo-ball  in  dust,  and  stuck  six 
shriveled  old  marigold  flowers  in  a  circle  round 
it.  Outside  that  circle  again,  was  a  rude  square, 
traced  out  in  bits  of  red  brick  alternating  with 
fragments  of  broken  china  ;  the  whole  bounded 
by  a  little  bank  of  dust.  The  bhistie  from  the 
well-curb  put  in  a  plea  for  the  small  architect, 
saying  that  it  was  only  the  play  ot  a  baby  and 
did  not  much  disfigure  my  garden. 

Heaven  knows  that  I  had  no  intention  of 
touching  the  child's  work  then  or  later  ;  but,  that 
evening,  a  stroll  through  the  garden  brought  me 
unawares  full  on  it ;  so  that  I  trampled,  before  I 
knew,  marigold-heads,  dust-bank,  and  fragments 
of  broken  soap-dish  into  confusion  past  all  hope 
of  mending.  Next  morning  I  came  upon  Muham- 
mad Din  crying  softly  to  himself  over  the  ruin 
I  had  wrought.  Some  one  had  cruelly  told  him 
that  the  Sahib  was  very  angry  with  him  for 
spoiling  the  garden,  and  had  scattered  his  rub- 
bish using  bad  language  the  while.  Muhammad 


The  Story  of  Muhammad  Din  269 

Din  labored  for  an  hour  at  effacing  every  trace 
of  the  dust-bank  and  pottery  fragments,  and  it 
was  with  a  tearful  and  apologetic  face  that  he 
said,  "  Talaam  Tahib"  when  I  came  home  from 
the  office.  A  hasty  inquiry  resulted  in  Imam 
Din  informing  Muhammad  Din  that  by  my 
singular  favor  he  was  permitted  to  disport  him- 
self as  he  pleased.  Whereat  the  child  took 
heart  and  fell  to  tracing  the  ground-plan  of  an 
edifice  which  was  to  eclipse  the  marigold-polo- 
ball  creation. 

For  some  months,  the  chubby  little  eccentric- 
ity revolved  in  his  humble  orbit  among  the  castor- 
oil  bushes  and  in  the  dust ;  always  fashioning 
magnificent  palaces  from  stale  flowers  thrown 
away  by  the  bearer,  smooth  water-worn  pebbles, 
bits  of  broken  glass,  and  feathers  pulled,  I  fancy, 
from  my  fowls — always  alone  and  always  croon- 
ing to  himself. 

A  gaily-spotted  sea-shell  was  dropped  one 
day  close  to  the  last  of  his  little  buildings  ;  and 
I  looked  that  Muhammad  Din  should  build 
something  more  than  ordinarily  splendid  on  the 
strength  of  it.  Nor  was  I  disappointed.  He 
meditated  for  the  better  part  of  an  hour,  and  his 
crooning  rose  to  a  jubilant  song.  Then  he 
began  tracing  in  dust.  It  would  certainly  be  a 
wondrous  palace,  this  one,  for  it  was  two  yards 
long  and  a  yard  broad  in  ground-plan.  But  the 
palace  was  never  completed. 

Next  day  there  was  no  Muhammad  Din  at  the 
head  of  the  carriage-drive,  and  no  "  Talaam 
Tahib"  to  welcome  my  return.  I  had  grown 
accustomed  to  the  greeting,  and  its  omission 
troubled  me.  Next  day  Imam  Din  told  me  that 
the  child  was  suffering  slightly  from  fever  and 


270     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

needed  quinine.  He  got  the  medicine,  and  an 
English  Doctor. 

"  They  have  no  stamina,  these  brats,"  said  the 
Doctor,  as  he  left  Imam  Din's  quarters. 

A  week  later,  though  I  would  have  given 
much  to  have  avoided  it,  I  met  on  the  road  to  the 
Mussalman  burying-ground  Imam  Din,  accom- 
panied by  one  other  friend,  carying  in  his  arms, 
wrapped  in  a  white  cloth,  all  that  was  left  of 
little  Muhammad  Din. 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  LIKENESS 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  LIKENESS. 

If  your  mirror  be  broken,  look  into  still  water;  but  have  a  care 
that  you  do  not  fall  in. 

Hindu  Proverb. 

NEXT  to  a  requited  attachment,  one  of  the 
most  convenient  things  that  a  young  man  can 
carry  about  with  him  at  the  beginning  of  his 
career,  is,  an  unrequited  attachment.  It  makes 
him  feel  important  and  businesslike,  and  blasi 
and  cynical ;  and  whenever  he  has  a  touch  of 
liver,  or  suffers  from  want  of  exercise,  he  can 
mourn  over  his  lost  love,  and  be  very  happy  in  a 
tender,  twilight  fashion. 

Hannasyde's  affair  of  the  heart  had  been  a 
Godsend  to  him.  It  was  four  years  old,  and  the 
girl  had  long  since  given  up  thinking  of  it.  She 
had  married  and  had  many  cares  of  her  own. 
In  the  beginning,  she  had  told  Hannasyde  that, 
"  while  she  could  never  be  anything  more  than 
a  sister  to  him,  she  would  always  take  the 
deepest  interest  in  his  welfare."  Thisstartlingly 
new  and  original  remark  gave  Hannasyde  some- 
thing to  think  over  for  two  years  ;  and  his  own 
vanity  filled  in  the  other  twenty-four  months. 
Hannasyde  was  quite  different  from  Phil  Gar- 
ron,  but,  none  the  less,  had  several  points  in 
common  with  that  far  too  lucky  man. 

He  kept  his  unrequited  attachment  by  him  as 
men  keep  a  well-smoked  pipe — for  comfort's  sake, 
and  because  it  had  grown  dear  in  the  using.  It 
brought  him  happily  through  the  Simla  season. 
Hannasyde  was  not  lovely.  There  was  a  crudity 

271 


272     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

in  his  manners,  and  a  roughness  in  the  way  in 
which  he  helped  a  lady  on  to  her  horse,  that  did 
not  attract  the  other  sex  to  him.  Even  if  he  had 
cast  about  for  their  favor,  which  he  did  not.  He 
kept  his  wounded  heart  all  to  himself  for  a  while. 
Then  trouble  came  to  him.  All  who  go  to 
Simla,  know  the  slope  from  the  Telegraph  to  the 
Public  Works  Office.  Hannasyde  was  loafing 
up  the  hill,  one  September  morning  between 
calling  hours,  when  a  'rickshaw  came  down  in  a 
hurry,  and  in.  the  'rickshaw  sat  the  living,  breath- 
ing image  of  the  girl  who  had  made  him  so 
happily  unhappy.  Hannasyde  leaned  against  the 
railings  and  gasped.  He  wanted  to  run  down- 
hill after  the  'rickshaw,  but  that  was  impossible  ; 
so  he  went  forward  with  most  of  his  blood  in  his 
temples.  It  was  impossible,  for  many  reasons, 
that  the  woman  in  the  'rickshaw  could  be  the 
girl  he  had  known.  She  was,  he  discovered 
later,  the  wife  of  a  man  from  Dindigul,  or 
Coimbatore,  or  some  out-of-the-way  place,  and 
she  had  come  up  to  Simla  early  in  the  season  for 
the  good  of  her  health.  She  was  going  back  to 
Dindigul,  or  wherever  it  was,  at  the  end  of  the 
season  ;  and  in  all  likelihood  would  never  return 
to  Simla  again,  her  proper  Hill-station  being 
Ootacamund.  That  night,  Hannasyde,  raw  and 
savage  from  the  raking  up  of  all  old  feelings, 
took  counsel  with  himself  for  one  measured 
hour.  What  he  decided  upon  was  this  ;  and  you 
must  decide  for  yourself  how  much  genuine 
affection  for  the  old  Love,  and  how  much  a  very 
natural  inclination  to  go  abroad  and  enjoy  him- 
self, affected  the  decision.  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert 
would  never  in  all  human  likelihood  cross  his 
path  again.  So  whatever  he  did  didn't  much 


On  the  Strength  of  a  Likeness   273 

matter.  She  was  marvelously  like  the  girl  who 
"  took  a  deep  interest "  and  the  rest  of  the  for- 
mula. All  things  considered,  it  would  be  pleas- 
ant to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Landys- 
Haggert,  and  for  a  little  time — only  a  very  little 
time — to  make  believe  that  he  was  with  Alice 
Chisane  again.  Every  one  is  more  or  less  mad 
on  one  point.  Hannasyde's  particular  mono- 
mania was  his  old  love,  Alice  Chisane. 

He  made  it  his  business  to  get  introduced  to 
Mrs.  Haggert,  and  the  introduction  prospered. 
He  also  made  it  his  business  to  see  as  much  as 
he  could  of  that  lady.  When  a  man  is  in  earnest 
as  to  interviews,  the  facilities  which  Simla  offers 
are  startling.  There  are  garden-parties,  and 
tennis-parties,  and  picnics,  and  luncheons  at 
Annandale,  and  rifle-matches,  and  dinners  and 
balls  ;  besides  rides  and  walks,  which  are  mat- 
ters of  private  arrangement.  Hannasyde  had 
started  with  the  intention  of  seeing  a  like- 
ness, and  he  ended  by  doing  much  more.  He 
wanted  to  be  deceived,  he  meant  to  be  deceived, 
and  he  deceived  himself  very  thoroughly.  Not 
only  were  the  face  and  figure,  the  face  and  figure 
of  Alice  Chisane,  but  the  voice  and  lower  tones 
were  exactly  the  same,  and  so  were  the  turns  of 
speech  ;  and  the  little  mannerisms,  that  every 
woman  has,  of  gait  and  gesticulation,  were 
absolutely  and  identically  the  same.  The  turn 
of  the  head  was  the  same  ;  the  tired  look  in  the 
eyes  at  the  end  of  a  long  walk  was  the  same  ; 
the  stoop  and  wrench  over  the  saddle  to  hold  in 
a  pulling  horse  was  the  same  ;  and  once,  most 
marvelous  of  all,  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  singing 
to  herself  in  the  next  room,  while  Hannasyde 
was  waiting  to  take  her  for  a  ride,  hummed, 
18 


274     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

note  for  note,  with  a  throaty  quiver  of  the  voice 
in  the  second  line  : — "Poor  Wandering  One/" 
exactly  as  Alice  Chisane  had  hummed  it  for 
Hannasyde  in  the  dusk  of  an  English  drawing- 
room.  In  the  actual  woman  herself — in  the  soul 
of  her — there  was  not  the  least  likeness  ;  she  and 
Alice  Chisane  being  cast  in  different  molds. 
But  all  that  Hannasyde  wanted  to  know  and  see 
and  think  about,  was  this  maddening  and  per- 
plexing likeness  of  face  and  voice  and  manner. 
He  was  bent  on  making  a  fool  of  himself  that 
way  ;  and  he  was  in  no  sort  disappointed. 

Open  and  obvious  devotion  from  any  sort  of 
man  is  always  pleasant  to  any  sort  of  woman  ; 
but  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  being  a  woman  of 
the  world,  could  make  nothing  of  Hannasyde's 
admiration. 

He  would  take  any  amount  of  trouble — he  was 
a  selfish  man  habitually — to  meet  and  forestall, 
if  possible,  her  wishes.  Anything  she  told  him 
to  do  was  law ;  and  he  was,  there  could  be  no 
doubting  it,  fond  of  her  company  so  long  as  she 
talked  to  him,  and  kept  on  talking  about  trivial- 
ities. But  when  she  launched  into  expression  of 
her  personal  views  and  her  wrongs,  those  small 
social  differences  that  make  the  spice  of  Simla 
life,  Hannasyde  was  neither  pleased  nor  inter- 
ested. He  didn't  want  to  know  anything  about 
Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  or  her  experiences  in  the 
past — She  had  traveled  nearly  all  over  the  world, 
and  could  talk  cleverly — he  wanted  the  likeness 
of  Alice  Chisane  before  his  eyes  and  her  voice  in 
his  ears.  Anything  outside  that,  reminding  him 
of  another  personality  jarred,  and  he  showed  that 
it  did. 

Under  the  new  Post  Office,  one  evening,  Mrs. 


On  the  Strength  of  a  Likeness   275 

Landys-Haggert  turned  on  him,  and  spoke  her 
mind  shortly  and  without  warning.  "  Mr.  Han- 
nasyde,"  said  she,  "  will  you  be  good  enough  to 
explain  why  you  have  appointed  yourself  my 
special  cavalier  servente  ?  I  don't  understand 
it.  But  I  am  perfectly  certain,  somehow  or  other, 
that  you  don't  care  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world 
for  me."  This  seems  to  support,  by  the  way, 
the  theory  that  no  man  can  act  or  tell  lies  to  a 
woman  without  being  found  out.  Hannasyde 
was  taken  off  his  guard.  His  defense  never 
was  a  strong  one,  because  he  was  always  think- 
ing of  himself,  and  he  blurted  out,  before  he 
knew  what  he  was  saying,  this  inexpedient  an- 
swer: — "  No  more  I  do." 

The  queerness  of  the  situation  and  the  reply, 
made  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  laugh.  Then  it  all 
came  out ;  and  at  the  end  of  Hannasyde's  lucid 
explanation,  Mrs.  Haggert  said,  with  the  least 
touch  of  scorn  in  her  voice  : — "  So  I'm  to  act  as 
the  lay-figure  for  you  to  hang  the  rags  of  your 
tattered  affections  on,  am  I  ?  " 

Hannasyde  didn't  see  what  answer  was  re- 
quired, and  he  devoted  himself  generally  and 
vaguely  to  the  praise  of  Alice  Chisane,  which 
was  unsatisfactory.  Now  it  is  to  be  thoroughly 
made  clear  that  Mrs.  Haggert  had  not  the 
shadow  of  a  ghost  of  an  interest  in  Hannasyde. 
Only  ....  only  no  woman  likes  being  made 

love  through  instead  of  to specially  on  behalf 

of  a  musty  divinity  of  four  years'  standing. 

Hannasyde  did  not  see  that  he  had  made  any 
very  particular  exhibition  of  himself.  He  was 
glad  to  find  a  sympathetic  soul  in  the  arid  wastes 
ot  Simla. 

When   the    season    ended,    Hannasyde   went 


276     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

down  to  his  own  place  and  Mrs.  Haggert  to 
hers.  "  It  was  like  making  love  to  a  ghost," 
said  Hannasyde  to  himself,  "  and  it  doesn't  mat- 
ter ;  and  now  I'll  get  to  my  work."  But  he 
found  himself  thinking  steadily  of  the  Haggert- 
Chisane  ghost ;  and  he  could  not  be  certain 
whether  it  was  Haggert  or  Chisane  that  made 
up  the  greater  part  of  the  pretty  phantom. 

He  got  understanding  a  month  later. 

A  peculiar  point  of  this  peculiar  country  is  the 
way  in  which  a  heartless  Government  transfers 
men  from  one  end  of  the  Empire  to  the  other. 
You  can  never  be  sure  of  getting  rid  of  a  friend 
or  an  enemy  till  he  or  she  dies.  There  was  a 
case  once — but  that's  another  story. 

Haggert's  Department  ordered  him  up  from 
Dindigul  to  the  Frontier  at  two  days'  notice, 
and  he  went  through,  losing  money  at  every 
step,  from  Dindigul  to  his  station.  He  dropped 
Mrs.  Haggert  at  Lucknow,  to  stay  with  some 
friends  there,  to  take  part  in  a  big  ball  at  the 
Chutter  Munzil,  and  to  come  on  when  he  had 
made  the  new  home  a  little  comfortable.  Luck- 
now  was  Hannasycle's  station,  and  Mrs.  Haggert 
stayed  a  week  there.  Hannasyde  went  to  meet 
her.  And  when  the  train  came  in,  he  discovered 
which  he  had  been  thinking  of  for  the  past 
month.  The  unwisdom  of  his  conduct  also 
struck  him.  The  Lucknow  week,  with  two 
dances,  and  an  unlimited  quantity  of  rides  to- 
gether, clinched  matters  ;  and  Hannasyde  found 
himself  pacing  this  circle  of  thought  : — He 
adored  Alice  Chisane — at  least  he  had  adored 
her.  And  he  admired  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert 
because  she  was  like  Alice  Chisane.  But  Mrs. 


On  the  Strength  of  a  Likeness    277 

Landys-Haggert  was  not  in  the  least  like  Alice 
Chisane,  being  a  thousand  times  more  adorable. 
Now  Alice  Chisane  was  "  the  bride  of  another," 
and  so  was  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  and  a  good 
and  honest  wife  too.  Therefore,  he,  Hannasyde, 
was  ....  here  he  called  himseli  several  hard 
names,  and  wished  that  he  had  been  wise  in  the 
beginning. 

Whether  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  saw  what  was 
going  on  in  his  mind,  she  alone  knows.  He 
seemed  to  take  an  unqualified  interest  in  every- 
thing connected  with  herself,  as  distinguished 
from  the  Alice-Chisane  likeness,  and  he  said  one 
or  two  things  which,  if  Alice  Chisane  had  been 
still  betrothed  to  him,  could  scarcely  have  been 
excused,  even  on  the  grounds  of  the  likeness. 
But  Mrs.  Haggert  turned  the  remarks  aside,  and 
spent  a  long  time  in  making  Hannasyde  see  what 
a  comfort  and  a  pleasure  she  had  been  to  him 
because  of  her  strange  resemblance  to  his  old 
love.  Hannasyde  groaned  in  his  saddle  and 
said,  "Yes,  indeed,"  and  busied  himself  with 
preparations  for  her  departure  to  the  Frontier, 
feeling  very  small  and  miserable. 

The  last  day  of  her  stay  at  Lucknow  came, 
and  Hannasyde  saw  her  off  at  the  Railway  Sta- 
tion. She  was  very  grateful  for  his  kindness 
and  the  trouble  he  had  taken,  and  smiled  pleas- 
antly and  sympathetically  as  one  who  knew  the 
Alice-Chisane  reason  of  that  kindness.  And 
Hannasyde  abused  the  coolies  with  the  luggage, 
and  hustled  the  people  on  the  platform,  and 
prayed  that  the  roof  might  fall  in  and  slay  him. 

As  the  train  went  out  slowly,  Mrs.  Landys- 
Haggert  leaned  out  of  the  widow  to  say  good- 
by  : — "  On  second  thoughts  au  revoir,  Mr.  Han« 


278     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

nasyde.  I  go  Home  in  the  Spring,  and  perhaps 
I  may  meet  you  in  Town." 

Hannasyde  shook  hands,  and  said  very  ear- 
nestly and  adoringly  : — "  I  hope  to  Heaven  I 
shall  never  see  your  face  again  ! " 

And  Mrs.  Haggert  understood. 


WRESSLEY  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE 


WRESSLEY  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE. 

I  closed  and  drew  for  my  love's  sake. 

That  now  is  false  to  me, 
And  I  slew  the  Riever  of  Tarrant  Moss, 

And  set  Dumeny  free. 

And  ever  they  give  me  nraise  and  gold, 

And  ever  I  moan  my  loss, 
For  I  struck  the  blow  for  my  false  love's  sake. 

And  not  for  the  men  at  the  Moss. 

Tarrant  Moss. 

ONE  of  the  many  curses  of  our  life  out  here  is 
the  want  of  atmosphere  in  the  painter's  sense. 
There  are  no  half-tints  worth  noticing.  Men 
stand  out  all  crude  and  raw,  with  nothing  to 
tone  them  down,  and  nothing  to  scale  them 
against.  They  do  their  work,  and  grow  to  think 
that  there  is  nothing  but  their  work,  and  nothing 
like  their  work,  and  that  they  are  the  real  pivots 
on  which  the  administration  turns.  Here  is  an 
instance  of  this  feeling.  A  half-caste  clerk  was 
ruling  forms  in  a  Pay  Office.  He  said  to  me  : — 
"  Do  you  know  what  would  happen  if  I  added  or 
took  away  one  single  line  on  this  sheet  ?  "  Then, 
with  the  air  of  a  conspirator  : — "  It  would  dis- 
organize the  whole  of  the  Treasury  payments 
throughout  the  whole  of  the  Presidency  Circle  ! 
Think  of  that  ?  " 

If  men  had  not  this  delusion  as  to  the  ultra- 
importance  of  their  own  particular  employments, 
I  suppose  that  they  would  sit  down  and  kill 
themselves.  But  their  weakness  is  wearisome, 
particularly  when  the  listener  knows  that  he 
himself  commits  exactly  the  same  sin. 

Even  the  Secretariat  believes  that  it  does  good 

279 


280     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

when  it  asks  an  over-driven  Executive  Officer  to 
take  a  census  of  wheat-weevils  through  a  dis- 
trict of  five  thousand  square  miles. 

There  was  a  man  once  in  the  Foreign  Office — 
a  man  who  had  grown  middle-aged  in  the  de- 
partment, and  was  commonly  said,  by  irrever- 
ent juniors,  to  be  able  to  repeat  Aitchison's 
"  Treaties  and  Sunnuds "  backwards,  in  his 
sleep.  What  he  did  with  his  stored  knowledge 
only  the  Secretary  knew  ;  and  he,  naturally, 
would  not  publish  the  news  abroad.  This  man's 
name  was  Wressley,  and  it  was  the  Shibboleth, 
in  those  days,  to  say  : — "  Wressley  knows  more 
about  the  Central  Indian  States  than  any  living 
man."  If  you  did  not  say  this,  you  were  con- 
sidered one  of  mean  understanding. 

Now-a-days,  the  man  who  says  that  he  knows 
the  ravel  of  the  inter-tribal  complications  across 
the  Border  is  of  more  use  ;  but  in  Wressley 's 
time,  much  attention  was  paid  to  the  Central 
Indian  States.  They  were  called  "foci"  and 
"  factors,"  and  all  manner  of  imposing  names. 

And  here  the  curse  of  Anglo-Indian  life  fell 
heavily.  When  Wressley  lifted  up  his  voice,  and 
spoke  about  such-and-such  a  succession  to  such- 
and-such  a  throne,  the  Foreign  Office  were  silent, 
and  Heads  of  Departments  repeated  the  last  two 
or  three  words  of  Wressley 's  sentences,  and 
tacked  "  yes,  yes,"  on  to  them,  and  knew  that 
they  were  "  assisting  the  Empire  to  grapple  with 
serious  political  contingencies."  In  most  big 
undertakings,  one  or  two  men  do  the  work  while 
the  rest  sit  near  and  talk  till  the  ripe  decorations 
begin  to  fall. 

Wressley  was  the  working-member  of  the 
Foreign  Office  firm,  and,  to  keep  him  up  to  his 


Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office   281 

duties  when  he  showed  signs  of  flagging,  he  was 
made  much  of  by  his  superiors  and  told  what  a 
fine  fellow  he  was.  He  did  not  require  coaxing, 
because  he  was  of  tough  build,  but  what  he  re- 
ceived confirmed  him  in  the  belief  that  there  was 
no  one  quite  so  absolutely  and  imperatively 
necessary  to  the  stability  of  India  as  Wressley  of 
the  Foreign  Office.  There  might  be  other  good 
men,  but  the  known,  honored  and  trusted  man 
among  men  was  Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office. 
We  had  a  Viceroy  in  those  days  who  knew 
exactly  when  to  "  gentle  "  a  fractious  big  man, 
and  to  hearten  up  a  collar-galled  little  one,  and 
so  keep  all  his  team  level.  He  conveyed  to 
Wressley  the  impression  which  I  have  just  set 
down  ;  and  even  tough  men  are  apt  to  be  dis- 
organized by  a  Viceroy's  praise.  There  was  a 
case-once but  that  is  another  story. 

All  India  knew  Wressley's  name  and  office — 
it  was  in  Thacker  and  Spink's  Directory — but 
who  he  was  personally,  or  what  he  did,  or  what 
his  special  merits  were,  not  fifty  men  knew  or 
cared.  His  work  filled  all  his  time,  and  he 
found  no  leisure  to  cultivate  acquaintances  be- 
yond those  of  dead  Rajput  chiefs  with  Ahir  blots 
in  their  scutcheons.  Wressley  would  have  made 
a  very  good  Clerk  in  the  Herald's  College  had  he 
not  been  a  Bengal  Civilian. 

Upon  a  day,  between  office  and  office,  great 
trouble  came  to  Wressley — overwhelmed  him, 
knocked  him  down,  and  left  him  gasping  as 
though  he  had  been  a  little  schoolboy.  With- 
out reason,  against  prudence,  and  at  a  moment's 
notice,  he  fell  in  love  with  a  frivolous,  golden- 
haired  girl  who  used  to  tear  about  Simla  Mall 
on  a  high,  rough  waler,  with  a  blue  velvet  jockey 


282     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

cap  crammed  over  her  eyes.  Her  name  was 
Venner — Tillie  Venner — and  she  was  delightful. 
She  took  Wressley's  heart  at  a  hand-gallop,  and 
Wressley  found  that  it  was  not  good  for  man 
to  live  alone  ;  even  with  half  the  Foreign  Office 
Records  in  his  presses. 

Then  Simla  laughed,  for  Wressley  in  love  was 
slightly  ridiculous.  He  did  his  best  to  interest 
the  girl  in  himself — that  is  to  say,  his  work — and 
she,  after  the  manner  of  women,  did  her  best  to 
appear  interested  in  what,  behind  his  back,  she 
called  "  Mr.  Wressley's  Wajahs ; "  for  she 
lisped  very  prettily.  She  did  not  understand 
one  little  thing  about  them,  but  she  acted  as  if 
she  did.  Men  have  married  on  that  sort  of  error 
before  now. 

Providence,  however,  had  care  of  Wressley. 
He  was  immensely  struck  with  Miss  Venner's 
intelligence.  He  would  have  been  more  im- 
pressed had  he  heard  her  private  and  confidential 
accounts  of  his  calls.  He  held  peculiar  notions 
as  to  the  wooing  of  girls.  He  said  that  the  best 
work  of  a  man's  career  should  be  laid  reverently 
at  their  feet.  Ruskin  writes  something  like  this 
somewhere,  I  think  ;  but  in  ordinary  life  a  lew 
kisses  are  better  and  save  time. 

About  a  month  after  he  had  lost  his  heart  to 
Miss  Venner,  and  had  been  doing  his  work  vilely 
in  consequence,  the  first  idea  of  his  "  Native 
Rule  in  Central  India "  struck  Wressley  and 
filled  him  with  joy.  It  was,  as  he  sketched  it,  a 
great  thing — the  work  of  his  life — a  really  com- 
prehensive survey  of  a  most  fascinating  subject 
. — to  be  written  with  all  the  special  and  labori- 
ously acquired  knowledge  of  Wressley  of  the 
Foreign  Office — a  gift  fit  for  an  Empress. 


Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office  283 

He  told  Miss  Venner  that  he  was  going  to  take 
leave,  and  hoped,  on  his  return,  to  bring  her  a 
present  worthy  of  her  acceptance.  Would  she 
wait  ?  Certainly  she  would.  Wressley  drew 
seventeen  hundred  rupees  a  month.  She  would 
wait  a  year  for  that.  Her  Mama  would  help  her 
to  wait. 

So  Wressley  took  one  year's  leave  and  all  the 
available  documents,  about  a  truck-load,  that  he 
could  lay  hands  on,  and  went  down  to  Central 
India  with  his  notion  hot  in  his  head.  He  began 
his  book  in  the  land  he  was  writing  of.  Too 
much  official  correspondence  had  made  him  a 
frigid  workman,  and  he  must  have  guessed  that 
he  needed  the  white  light  of  local  color  on  his 
palette.  This  is  a  dangerous  paint  for  amateurs 
to  play  with. 

Heavens,  how  that  man  worked  !  He  caught 
his  Rajahs,  analyzed  his  Rajahs,  and  traced  them 
up  into  the  mists  of  Time  and  beyond,  with  their 
queens  and  their  concubines.  He  dated  and 
cross-dated,  pedigreed  and  triple-pedigreed, 
compared,  noted,  connoted,  wove,  strung,  sorted, 
selected,  inferred,  calendared  and  counter-calen- 
dared for  ten  hours  a  day.  And,  because  this 
sudden  and  new  light  of  Love  was  upon  him,  he 
turned  those  dry  bones  of  history  and  dirty  rec- 
ords of  misdeeds  into  things  to  weep  or  to  laugh 
over  as  he  pleased.  His  heart  and  soul  were  at 
the  end  of  his  pen,  and  they  got  into  the  ink. 
He  was  dowered  with  sympathy,  insight,  humor 
and  style  for  two  hundred  and  thirty  days  and 
nights  ;  and  his  book  was  a  Book.  He  had  his 
vast  special  knowledge  with  him,  so  to  speak  ; 
but  the  spirit,  the  woven-in  human  Touch,  the 
poetry  and  the  power  ol  the  output,  were  beyond 


284     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

all  special  knowledge.  But  I  doubt  whether  he 
knew  the  gift  that  was  in  him  then,  and  thus  he 
may  have  lost  some  happiness.  He  was  toiling 
for  Tillie  Venner,  not  for  himself.  Men  often  do 
their  best  work  blind,  for  some  one  else's  sake. 

Also,  though  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
story,  in  India  where  everyone  knows  every  one 
else,  you  can  watch  men  being  driven,  by  the 
women  who  govern  them,  out  of  the  rank-and- 
file  and  sent  to  take  up  points  alone.  A  good 
man,  once  started,  goes  forward  ;  but  an  average 
man,  so  soon  as  the  woman  loses  interest  in  his 
success  as  a  tribute  to  her  power,  comes  back  to 
the  battalion  and  is  no  more  heard  of. 

Wressley  bore  the  first  copy  of  his  book  to 
Simla  and,  blushing  and  stammering,  presented 
it  to  Miss  Venner.  She  read  a  little  of  it.  I 
give  her  review  verbatim: — "Oh,  your  book  ? 
It's  all  about  those  how-wid  Wajahs.  I  didn't 
understand  it." 

Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office  was  broken, 
smashed, — I  am  not  exaggerating — by  this  one 
frivolous  little  girl.  All  that  he  could  say  feebly 
was  : — "  But — but  it's  my  magnum  opus  !  The 
work  of  my  life."  Miss  Venner  did  not  know 
what  magnum  opus  meant  ;  but  she  knew  that 
Captain  Kerrington  had  won  three  races  at  the 
last  Gymkhana.  Wressley  didn't  press  her  to 
wait  for  him  any  longer.  He  had  sense  enough 
for  that. 

Then  came  the  reaction  after  the  year's  strain, 
and  Wressley  went  back  to  the  Foreign  Office 
and  his  "  Wajahs,"  a  compiling,  gazetteering, 
report-writing  hack,  who  would  have  been  dear 
at  three  hundred  rupees  a  month.  He  abided 


Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office  285 

by  Miss  Venner's  review.  Which  proves  that 
the  inspiration  in  the  book  was  purely  temporary 
and  unconnected  with  himself.  Nevertheless, 
he  had  no  right  to  sink,  in  a  hill-tarn,  five  pack- 
ing-cases, brought  up  at  enormous  expense  from 
Bombay,  of  the  best  book  of  Indian  history  ever 
written. 

When  he  sold  off  before  retiring,  some  years 
later,  I  was  turning  over  his  shelves,  and  came 
across  the  only  existing  copy  of  "  Native  Rule 
in  Central  India  " — the  copy  that  Miss  Venner 
could  not  understand.  I  read  it,  sitting  on  his 
mule-trunks,  as  long  as  the  light  lasted,  and 
offered  him  his  own  price  for  it.  He  looked  over 
my  shoulder  for  a  few  pages  and  said  to  himself 
drearily  : — 

"  Now,  how  in  the  world  did  I  come  to  write 
such  damned  good  stuff  as  that  ?  ** 

Then  to  me  : — 

"Take  it  and  keep  it.  Write  one  of  your 
penny-farthing  yarns  about  its  birth.  Perhaps 
— perhaps — the  whole  business  may  have  been 
ordained  to  that  end." 

Which,  knowing  what  Wressley  of  the  Foreign 
Office  was  once,  struck  me  as  about  the  bitterest 
thing  that  1  had  ever  heard  a  man  say  of  his 
own  work. 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH. 

Not  though  you  die  to-night,  O  Sweet,  and  wail, 

A  specter  at  my  door, 
Shall  mortal  Fear  make  Love  immortal  fail — 

I  shall  but  love  you  more, 

Who,  from  Death's  house  returning,  give  me  still 
One  moment's  comfort  in  my  matchless  ill. 

Shadmv  Houses. 

THIS  tale  may  be  explained  by  those  who  know 
how  souls  are  made,  and  where  the  bounds  of 
the  Possible  are  put  down.  I  have  lived  long 
enough  in  this  country  to  know  that  it  is  best  to 
know  nothing,  and  can  only  write  the  story  as  it 
happened. 

Dumoise  was  our  Civil  Surgeon  at  Meridki, 
and  we  called  him  "  Dormouse,"  because  he 
was  a  round  little,  sleepy  little  man.  He  was  a 
good  Doctor  and  never  quarreled  with  any  one, 
not  even  with  our  Deputy  Commissioner,  who 
had  the  manners  of  a  bargee  and  the  tact  of  a 
horse.  He  married  a  girl  as  round  and  as 
sleepy-looking  as  himself.  She  was  a  Miss  Hil- 
lardyce,  daughter  of  "Squash"  Hillardyce  of 
the  Berars,  who  married  his  Chief's  daughter  by 
mistake.  But  that  is  another  story. 

A  honeymoon  in  India  is  seldom  more  than  a 
week  long  ;  but  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  a 
couple  from  extending  it  over  two  or  three  years. 
This  is  a  delightful  country  for  married  folk  who 
are  wrapped  up  in  one  another.  They  can  live 
absolutely  alone  and  without  interruption — just 
as  the  Dormice  did.  These  two  little  people 
retired  from  the  world  after  their  marriage,  and 
286 


By  Word  of  Mouth         287 

were  very  happy.  They  were  forced,  of  course, 
to  give  occasional  dinners,  but  they  made  no 
friends  hereby,  and  the  Station  went  its  own 
way  and  forgot  them  ;  only  saying,  occasionally, 
that  Dormouse  was  the  best  of  good  fellows, 
though  dull.  A  Civil  Surgeon  who  never  quar- 
rels is  a  rarely,  appreciated  as  such. 

Few  people  can  afford  to  play  Robinson  Crusoe 
anywhere — least  of  all  in  India,  where  we  are 
few  in  the  land,  and  very  much  dependent  on 
each  others'  kind  offices.  Dumoise  was  wrong 
in  shutting  himself  from  the  world  for  a  year, 
and  he  discovered  his  mistake  when  an  epidemic 
of  typhoid  broke  out  in  the  Station  in  the  heart 
of  the  cold  weather,  and  his  wife  went  down. 
He  was  a  shy  little  man,  and  five  days  were 
wasted  before  he  realized  that  Mrs.  Dumoise 
was  burning  with  something  worse  than  simple 
fever,  and  three  days  more  passed  before  he  ven- 
tured to  call  on  Mrs.  Shute,  the  Engineer's  wife, 
and  timidly  speak  about  his  trouble.  Nearly 
every  household  in  India  knows  that  Doctors  are 
very  helpless  in  typhoid.  The  battle  must  be 
fought  out  between  Death  and  the  Nurses,  min- 
ute by  minute  and  degree  by  degree.  Mrs. 
Shute  almost  boxed  Dumoise's  ears  for  what  she 
called  his  "criminal  delay,"  and  went  off  at  once 
to  look  after  the  poor  girl.  We  had  seven  cases 
of  typhoid  in  the  Station  that  winter  and,  as  the 
average  of  death  is  about  one  in  every  rive  cases, 
we  felt  certain  that  we  should  have  to  lose 
somebody.  But  all  did  their  best.  The  women 
sat  up  nursing  the  women,  and  the  men  turned 
to  and  tended  the  bachelors  who  were  down, 
and  we  wrestled  with  those  typhoid  cases  for 
fifty-six  days,  and  brought  them  through  the 


288     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

Valley  of  the  Shadow  in  triumph.  But,  just 
when  we  thought  all  was  over,  and  were  going 
to  give  a  dance  to  celebrate  the  victory,  little 
Mrs.  Dumoise  got  a  relapse  and  died  in  a  week 
and  the  Station  went  to  the  I'uneral.  Dumoise 
broke  down  utterly  at  the  brink  of  the  grave, 
and  had  to  be  taken  away. 

After  the  death,  Dumoise  crept  into  his  own 
house  and  refused  to  be  comforted.  He  did  his 
duties  perfectly,  but  we  all  lelt  that  he  should 
go  on  leave,  and  the  other  men  of  his  own  Serv- 
ice told  him  so.  Dumoise  was  very  thankful  for 
the  suggestion — he  was  thankful  for  anything  in 
those  days — and  went  to  Chini  on  a  walking-tour. 
Chini  is  some  twenty  marches  from  Simla,  in  the 
heart  of  the  Hills,  and  the  scenery  is  good  if  you 
are  in  trouble.  You  pass  through  big,  still 
deodar-forests,  and  under  big,  still  cliffs,  and 
over  big,  still  grass-downs  swelling  like  a 
woman's  breasts;  and  the  wind  across  the  grass, 
and  the  rain  among  the  deodars  says  : — "  Hush 
. — hush — hush."  So  little  Dumoise  was  packed 
off  to  Chini,  to  wear  down  his  grief  with  a  full- 
plate  camera,  and  a  rifle.  He  took  also  a  use- 
less bearer,  because  the  man  had  been  his  wife's 
favorite  servant.  He  was  idle  and  a  thief,  but 
Dumoise  trusted  everything  to  him. 

On  his  way  back  from  Chini,  Dumoise  turned 
aside  to  Bagi,  through  the  Forest  Reserve  which 
is  on  the  spur  of  Mount  Huttoo.  Some  men 
who  have  traveled  more  than  a  little  say  that 
the  march  from  Kotegarh  to  Bagi  is  one  of  the 
finest  in  creation.  It  runs  through  dark  wet 
forest,  and  ends  suddenly  in  bleak,  nipped  hill- 
side and  black  rocks.  Bagi  dak-bungalow  is 
open  to  all  the  winds  and  is  bitterly  cold.  Few 


By  Word  of  Mouth         289 

people  go  to  Bagi.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason 
why  Dumoise  went  there.  He  halted  at  seven 
in  the  evening,  and  his  bearer  went  down  the 
hill-side  to  the  village  to  engage  coolies  for  the 
next  day's  march.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the 
night-winds  were  beginning  to  croon  among  the 
rocks.  Dumoise  leaned  on  the  railing  of  the 
veranda,  waiting  for  his  bearer  to  return.  The 
man  came  back  almost  immediately  after  he  had 
disappeared,  and  at  such  a  rate  that  Dumoise 
lancied  he  must  have  crossed  a  bear.  He  was 
running  as  hard  as  he  could  up  the  face  of  the 
hill. 

But  there  was  no  bear  to  account  for  his  terror. 
He  raced  to  the  veranda  and  fell  down,  the 
blood  spurting  from  his  nose  and  his  face  iron- 
gray.  Then  he  gurgled  : — "  I  have  seen  the 
Memsahib  !  I  have  seen  the  Memsahib!" 

"Where  ?  "  said  Dumoise. 

"  Down  there,  walking  on  the  road  to  the 
village.  She  was  in  a  blue  dress,  and  she  lifted 
the  veil  of  her  bonnet  and  said  : — •  Ram  Dass, 
give  my  salaams  to  the  Sahib,  and  tell  him  that 
I  shall  meet  him  next  month  at  Nuddea.'  Then 
I  ran  away,  because  I  was  afraid." 

What  Dumoise  said  or  did  I  do  not  know. 
Ram  Dass  declares  that  he  said  nothing,  but 
walked  up  and  down  the  veranda  all  the  cold 
night,  waiting  for  the  Memsahib  to  come  up  the 
hill  and  stretching  out  his  arms  into  the  dark 
like  a  madman.  But  no  Memsahib  came,  and, 
next  day,  he  went  on  to  Simla  cross-questioning 
the  bearer  every  hour. 

Ram  Dass  could  only  say  that  he  had  met  Mrs. 
Dumoise  and  that  she  had  lifted  up  her  veil  and 
given  him  the  message  which  he  had  faithfully 

19 


290     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

repeated  to  Dumoise.  To  this  statement  Ram 
Das-,  adhered.  He  did  not  know  where  Nudclea 
was,  had  no  friends  at  Nuddea,  and  would  most 
certainly  never  go  to  Nuddea  ;  even  though  his 
pay  were  doubled. 

Nuddea  is  in  Bengal,  and  has  nothing  what- 
eyer  to  do  with  a  Doctor  serving  in  the  Punjab. 
It  must  be  more  than  twelve  hundred  miles  from 
Meridki. 

Dumoise  went  through  Simla  without  halting, 
and  returned  to  Meridki  there  to  take  over  charge 
from  the  man  who  had  been  officiating  for  him 
during  his  tour.  There  were  some  Dispensary 
accounts  to  be  explained,  and  some  recent  orders 
of  the  Surgeon-General  to  be  noted,  and,  al- 
together, the  taking-over  was  a  full  day's  work. 
In  the  evening,  Dumoise  told  his  locum  tenens, 
who  was  an  old  friend  of  his  bachelor  days,  what 
had  happened  at  Bagi  ;  and  the  man  said  that 
Ram  Dass  might  as  well  have  chosen  Tuticorin 
while  he  was  about  it. 

At  that  moment,  a  telegraph-peon  came  in 
with  a  telegram  from  Simla,  ordering  Dumoise 
not  to  take  over  charge  at  Meridki,  but  to  go  at 
once  to  Nuddea  on  special  duty.  There  was  a 
nasty  outbreak  of  cholera  at  Nuddea,  and  the 
Bengal  Government,  being  shorthanded,  as  usual, 
had  borrowed  a  Surgeon  from  the  Punjab. 

Dumoise  threw  the  telegram  across  the  table 
and  said  : — "  Well  ?  " 

The  other  Doctor  said  nothing.  It  was  all 
that  he  could  say. 

Then  he  remembered  that  Dumoise  had  passed 
through  Simla  on  his  way  from  Bagi  ;  and  thus 
might,  possibly,  have  heard  first  news  of  the  im- 
pending transfer. 


By  Word  of  Mouth         291 

He  tried  to  put  the  question,  and  he  implied 
suspicion  into  words,  but  Dumoise  stopped  him 
with  : — "  If  I  had  desired  that,  I  should  never 
have  come  back  from  Chini.  I  was  shooting 
there.  I  wish  to  live,  for  I  have  things  to  do.  .  .  . 
but  I  shall  not  be  sorry." 

The  other  man  bowed  his  head,  and  helped, 
in  the  twilight,  to  pack  up  Dumoise's  just  opened 
trunks.  Ram  Dass  entered  with  the  lamps. 

"  Where  is  the  Sahib  going  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  To  Nuddea."  said  Dumoise  softly. 

Ram  Dass  clawed  Dumoise's  knees  and  boots 
and  begged  him  not  to  go.  Ram  Dass  wept 
and  howled  till  he  was  turned  out  of  the  room. 
Then  he  wrapped  up  all  his  belongings  and  came 
back  to  ask  for  a  character.  He  was  not  going 
to  Nuddea  to  see  his  Sahib  die,  and  perhaps,  to 
die  himself. 

So  Dumoise  gave  the  man  his  wages  and  went 
down  to  Nuddea  alone  ;  the  other  Doctor  bidding 
him  good-by  as  one  under  sentence  of  death. 

Eleven  days  later,  he  had  joined  his  Mem- 
sahib  ;  and  the  Bengal  Government  had  to  bor- 
row a  fresh  Doctor  to  cope  with  that  epidemic 
at  Nuddea.  The  first  importation  lay  dead  in 
Chooadanga  Dak-Bungalow. 


TO  BE   FILED  FOR  REFERENCE. 

By  the  hoof  of  the  Wild  Goat  up-tossed 
From  the  Cliff  where  She  lay  in  the  Sun, 

Fell  the  Stone 

To  the  Tarn  where  the  daylight  is  lost ; 
So  She  fell  from  the  light  of  the  Sun, 

And  alone. 

Now  the  fall  was  ordained  from  the  first, 
With  the  Goat  and  the  Cliff  and  the  Tarn, 

But  the  Stone 

Knows  only  Her  life  is  accursed, 
As  She  sinks  in  the  depths  of  the  Tarn, 

And  alone. 

Oh,  Thou  who  hast  builded  the  world, 
Oh,  Thou  who  has  lighted  the  Sun  ! 
Oh,  Thou  who  hast  darkened  the  Tarnl 

Judge  Thou 

The  sin  of  the  Stone  that  was  hurled 
By  the  Goat  from  the  light  of  the  Sun, 
As  She  sinks  in  the  mire  of  the  Tarn. 

Even  now — even  now — even  now  F 

From  the  UnpnblisJied  Papers  of  Mclntoshjellaludin, 

"SAY  is  it  dawn,  is  it  dusk  in  thy  Bower, 
Thou  whom  I  long  for,  who  longest  for  me  ? 

Oh  be  it  night — be  it " 

Here  he  fell  over  a  little  camel-colt  that  was 
sleeping  in  the  Serai  where  the  horse-traders  and 
the  best  of  the  blackguards  from  Central  Asia 
live  ;  and,  because  he  was  very  drunk  indeed 
and  the  night  was  dark,  he  could  not  rise  again 
till  I  helped  him.  That  was  the  beginning  of 
my  acquaintance  with  Mclntosh  Jellaludin. 
When  a  loafer,  and  drunk,  sings  The  Song  of  the 
Bower,  he  must  be  worth  cultivating.  He  got 
off  the  camel's  back  and  said,  rather  thickly: — 
MI — i — i'm  a  bit  screwed,  but  a  dip  in  Log- 
292 


To  be  Filed  for  Reference     293 

gerhead  will  put  me  right  again  ;  and,  I  say, 
have  you  spoken  to  Symonds  about  the  mare's 
knees  ?  " 

Now  Loggerhead  was  six  thousand  weary 
miles  away  from  us,  close  to  Mesopotamia,  where 
you  mustn't  fish  and  poaching  is  impossible,  and 
Charley  Symonds'  stable  a  half  mile  further  across 
the  paddocks.  It  was  strange  to  hear  all  the  old 
names,  on  a  May  night,  among  the  horses  and 
camels  of  the  Sultan  Caravanserai.  Then  the 
man  seemed  to  remember  himself  and  sober 
down  at  the  same  time.  He  leaned  against  the 
camel  and  pointed  to  a  corner  of  the  Serai  where 
a  lamp  was  burning  : — 

"  I  live  there,"  said  he,  "  and  I  should  be  ex- 
tremely obliged  if  you  would  be  good  enough  to 
help  my  mutinous  feet  thither  ;  for  I  am  more 
than  usually  drunk — most — most  phenomenally 
tight.  But  not  in  respect  to  my  head.  •  My 
brain  cries  out  against' — how  does  it  go  ?  But 

my  head  rides  on  the rolls  on  the  dung-hill  I 

should  have  said,  and  controls  the  qualm." 

1  helped  him  through  the  gangs  of  tethered 
horses  and  he  collapsed  on  the  edge  of  the  ve- 
randa in  front  of  the  line  of  native  quarters. 

"Thanks — a  thousand  thanks  !  O  Moon  and 
little,  little  Stars  !  To  think  that  a  man  should 
so  shamelessly  ....  Infamous  liquor,  too. 
Ovid  in  exile  drank  no  worse.  Better.  It  \vas 
frozen.  Alas  !  L  had  no  ice.  Good-night.  I 
would  introduce  you  to  my  wife  were  I  sober — 
or  she  civilized." 

A  native  woman  came  out  of  the  darkness  of 
the  room,  and  began  calling  the  man  names  ;  so 
I  went  away.  He  was  the  most  interesting  loafer 
that  I  had  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  fora  long 


294     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

time  ;  and  later  on,  he  became  a  friend  of  mine. 
He  was  a  tall,  well-built,  fair  man  fearfully  shaken 
with  drink,  and  he  looked  nearer  fifty  than  the 
thirty-five  which,  he  said,  was  his  real  age. 
When  a  man  begins  to  sink  in  India,  and  is  not 
sent  Home  by  his  friends  as  soon  as  may  be,  he 
falls  very  low  from  a  respectable  point  of  view. 
By  the  time  that  he  changes  his  creed,  as  did 
Mclntosh,  he  is  past  redemption. 

In  most  big  cities,  natives  will  tell  you  of  two 
or  three  Sahibs,  generally  low-caste,  who  have 
turned  Hindu  or  Mussalman,  and  who  live  more 
or  less  as  such.  But  it  is  not  often  that  you  can 
get  to  know  them.  As  Mclntosh  himself  used 
to  say  : — "  If  I  change  my  religion  for  my 
stomach's  sake,  I  do  not  seek  to  become  a  martyr 
to  missionaries,  nor  am  I  anxious  for  notoriety." 

At  the  outset  of  acquaintance  Mclntosh  warned 
me:  "Remember  this.  lam  not  an  object  for 
charity.  I  require  neither  your  money,  your  food, 
nor  your  cast-off  raiment.  I  am  that  rare  animal, 
a  self-supporting  drunkard.  If  you  choose,  I 
will  smoke  with  you,  for  the  tobacco  of  the  bazars 
does  not,  I  admit,  suit  my  palate  ;  and  I  will 
borrow  any  books  which  you  may  not  specially 
value.  It  is  more  than  likely  that  I  shall  sell 
them  for  bottles  of  excessively  filthy  country- 
liquors.  In  return,  you  shall  share  such  hospi- 
tality as  my  house  affords.  Here  is  a  charpoy 
on  which  two  can  sit,  and  it  is  possible  that  there 
may,  from  time  to  time,  be  food  in  that  platter. 
Drink,  unfortunately,  you  will  find  on  the  prem- 
ises at  any  hour  :  and  thus  I  make  you  welcome 
to  all  my  poor  establishments." 

I  was  admitted  to  the  Mclntosh  household — I 
and  my  good  tobacco.  But  nothing  else.  Un- 


To  be  Filed  for  Reference     295 

luckily,  one  cannot  visit  a  loafer  in  the  Serai  by 
day.  Friends  buying  horses  would  not  un- 
derstand it.  Consequently,  I  was  obliged  to 
see  Mclntosh  after  dark.  He  laughed  at  this, 
and  said  simply  : — "  You  are  perfectly  right. 
When  I  enjoyed  a  position  in  society,  rather 
higher  than  yours,  I  should  have  done  exactly 
the  same  thing,  Good  Heavens  !  I  was  once  " — 
he  spoke  as  though  he  had  fallen  from  the  Com- 
mand of  a  Regiment — "  an  Oxford  Man  !  "  This 
accounted  for  the  reference  to  Charley  Symonds' 
stable. 

"  You,"  said  Mclntosh,  slowly,  "  have  not  had 
that  advantage  ;  but,  to  outward  appearance,  you 
do  not  seem  possessed  of  a  craving  for  strong 
drinks.  On  the  whole,  I  fancy  that  you  are  the 
luckier  of-the  two.  Yet  I  am  not  certain.  You 
are — forgive  my  saying  so  even  while  I  am  smok- 
ing your  excellent  tobacco — painfully  ignorant  ot 
many  things." 

We  were  sitting  together  on  the  edge  of  his 
bedstead,  for  he  owned  no  chairs,  watching  the 
horses  being  watered  for  the  night,  while  the 
native  woman  was  preparing  dinner.  I  did  not 
like  being  patronized  by  a  loafer,  but  I  was  his 
guest  for  the  time  being,  though  he  owned  only 
one  very  torn  alpaca-coat  and  a  pair  of  trousers 
made  out  of  gunny-bags.  He  took  the  pipe  out 
of  his  mouth,  and  went  on  judicially  : — "  AH 
things  considered,  I  doubt  whether  you  are  the 
luckier.  I  do  not  refer  to  your  extremely  limited 
classical  attainments,  or  your  excruciating  quan- 
tities, but  to  your  gross  ignorance  of  matters 
more  immediately  under  your  notice.  That  for 
instance." — He  pointed  to  a  woman  cleaning  a 
samovar  near  the  well  in  the  center  ot  the  Serai 


296     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

She  was  flicking  the  water  out  of  the  spout  in 
regular  cadenced  jerks. 

"  There  are  ways  and  ways  of  cleaning 
samovars.  If  you  knew  why  she  was  doing  her 
work  in  that  particular  fashion,  you  would  know 
what  the  Spanish  Monk  meant  when  he  said — 

'  I  the  Trinity  illustrate, 

Drinking  watered  orange-pulp— 
In  three  sips  the  Aryan  frustrate, 
While  he  drains  his  at  one  gulp ' — 

and  many  other  things  which  now  are  hidden 
from  your  eyes.  However,  Mrs.  Mclntosh  has 
prepared  dinner.  Let  us  come  and  eat  after  the 
fashion  of  the  people  of  the  country — of  whom, 
by  the  way,  you  know  nothing." 

The  native  woman  dipped  her  hand  in  the  dish 
with  us.  This  was  wrong.  The  wife  should 
always  wait  until  the  husband  has  eaten.  Mcln- 
tosh Jellaludin  apologized,  saying  : — 

"  It  is  an  English  prejudice  which  I  have  not 
been  able  to  overcome  ;  and  she  loves  me.  Why, 
I  have  never  been  able  to  understand.  I  fore- 
gathered with  her  at  Jullundur,  three  years  ago, 
and  she  has  remained  with  me  ever  since.  I  be- 
lieve her  to  be  moral,  and  know  her  to  be  skilled 
in  cookery." 

He  patted  the  woman's  head  as  he  spoke,  and 
she  cooed  softly.  She  was  not  pretty  to  look  at. 

Mclntosh  never  told  me  what  position  he  had 
held  before  his  fall.  He  was,  when  sober,  a 
scholar  and  a  gentleman.  When  drunk,  he  was 
rather  more  of  the  first  than  the  second.  He 
used  to  get  drunk  about  once  a  week  for  two 
days.  On  those  occasions  the  native  woman 
tended  him  while  he  raved  in  all  tongues  except 
his  own.  One  day,  indeed,  he  began  reciting 


To  be  Filed  for  Reference     297 

Atalanta  in  Calydon,  and  went  through  it  to  the 
end,  beating  time  to  the  swing  of  the  verse  with 
a  bedstead-leg.  But  he  did  most  of  his  ravings 
in  Greek  or  German.  The  man's  mind  was  a 
perfect  rag-bag  of  useless  things.  Once,  when 
he  was  beginning  to  get  sober,  he  told  me  that  I 
was  the  only  rational  being  in  the  Inlerno  into 
which  he  had  descended — a  Virgil  in  the  Shades, 
he  said — and  that,  in  return  for  my  tobacco,  he 
would,  before  he  died,  give  me  the  materials  of 
a  new  Inferno  that  should  make  me  greater  than 
Dante.  Then  he  fell  asleep  on  a  horse-blanket 
and  woke  up  quite  calm. 

"  Man,"  said  he,  "  when  you  have  reached  the 
uttermost  depths  of  degradation,  little  incidents 
which  would  vex  a  higher  life,  are  to  you  of  no 
consequence.  Last  night,  my  soul  was  among 
the  gods  ;  but  I  make  no  doubt  that  my  bestial 
body  was  writhing  down  here  in  the  garbage." 

"  You  were  abominably  drunk  if  that's  what 
you  mean,"  I  said. 

"  I  was  drunk — filthily  drunk.  I  who  am  the 
son  of  a  man  with  whom  you  have  no  concern 
— I  who  was  once  Fellow  of  a  College  whose 
buttery-hatch  you  have  not  seen.  I  was  loath- 
somely drunk.  But  consider  how  lightly  I  am 
touched.  It  is  nothing  to  me.  Less  than  noth- 
ing ;  for  I  do  not  even  feel  the  headache  which 
should  be  my  portion.  Now,  in  a  higher  life, 
how  ghastly  would  have  been  my  punishment, 
how  bitter  my  repentance  !  Believe  me,  my 
friend  with  the  neglected  education,  the  highest 
is  as  the  lowest — always  supposing  each  degree 
extreme." 

He  turned  round  on  the  blanket,  put  his  head 
between  his  fists  and  continued  : — 


298     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

"  On  the  Soul  which  I  have  lost  and  on  the 
Conscience  which  I  have  killed,  I  tell  you  that  I 
cannot  feel  !  I  am  as  the  gods,  knowing  good 
and  evil,  but  untouched  by  either.  Is  this  en- 
viable or  is  it  not  ?  " 

When  a  man  has  lost  the  warning  of  "  next 
morning's  head,"  he  must  be  in  a  bad  state,  I 
answered,  looking  at  Mclntosh  on  the  blanket, 
with  his  hair  over  his  eyes  and  his  lips  blue- 
white,  that  I  did  not  think  the  insensibility  good 
enough. 

"  For  pity's  sake,  don't  say  that !  I  tell  you,  it 
is  good  and  most  enviable.  Think  of  my  con- 
solations !  " 

"  Have  you  so  many,  then,  Mclntosh  ?  " 

"Certainly;  your  attempts  at  sarcasm  which 
is  essentially  the  weapon  of  a  cultured  man,  are 
crude.  First,  my  attainments,  my  classical  and 
literary  knowledge,  blurred,  perhaps,  by  im- 
moderate drinking — which  reminds  me  that  be- 
fore my  soul  went  to  the  Gods  last  night,  I  sold 
the  Pickering  Horace  you  so  kindly  lent  me. 
Ditta  Mull  the  clothesman  has  it.  It  fetched  ten 
annas,  and  may  be  redeemed  for  a  rupee — but 
still  infinitely  superior  to  yours.  Secondly,  the 
abiding  affection  of  Mrs.  Mclntosh,  best  of  wives. 
Thirdly,  a  monument,  more  enduring  than  brass, 
which  I  have  built  up  in  the  seven  years  of  my 
degradation." 

He  stopped  here,  and  crawled  across  the  room 
for  a  drink  of  water.  He  was  very  shaky  and 
sick. 

He  referred  several  times  to  his  "  treasure  " — 
some  great  possession  that  he  owned — but  I  held 
this  to  be  the  raving  of  drink.  He  was  as  poor 
and  as  proud  as  he  could  be.  His  manner  was 


To  be  Filed  for  Reference     299 

not  pleasant,  but  he  knew  enough  about  the 
natives,  among  whom  seven  years  of  his  life  had 
been  spent,  to  make  his  acquaintance  worth  hav- 
ing. He  used  actually  to  laugh  at  Strickland  as 
an  ignorant  man — "  ignorant  West  and  East" — 
he  said.  His  boast  was,  first,  that  he  was  an 
Oxford  Man  of  rare  and  shining  parts,  which 
may  or  may  not  have  been  true — I  did  not  know 
enough  to  check  his  statements — and,  secondly, 
that  he  "  had  his  hand  on  the  pulse  of  native 
life  " — which  was  a  fact.  As  an  Oxford  man,  he 
struck  me  as  a  prig  ;  he  was  always  throwing 
his  education  about.  As  a  Mahommedan/rt^w/r 
— as  Mclntosh  Jellaludin — he  was  all  that  I 
wanted  for  my  own  ends.  He  smoked  several 
pounds  of  my  tobacco,  and  taught  me  several 
ounces  of  things  worth  knowing  ;  but  he  would 
never  accept  any  gifts,  not  even  when  the  cold 
weather  came,  and  gripped  the  poor  thin  chest 
under  the  poor  thin  alpaca-coat.  He  grew  very 
angry,  and  said  that  I  had  insulted  him,  and 
that  he  was  not  going  into  hospital.  He  had 
lived  like  a  beast  and  he  would  die  rationally, 
like  a  man. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  died  of  pneumonia ; 
and  on  the  night  of  his  death  sent  over  a  grubby 
note  asking  me  to  come  and  help  him  to  die. 

The  native  woman  was  weeping  by  tlie  side  of 
the  bed.  Mclntosh,  wrapped  in  a  cotton  cloth, 
was  too  weak  to  resent  a  fur  coat  being  thrown 
over  him.  He  was  very  active  as  far  as  his  mind 
was  concerned,  and  his  eyes  were  blazing. 
When  he  had  abused  the  Doctor  who  came  with 
me,  so  foully  that  the  indignant  old  fellow  left, 
he  cursed  me  for  a  few  minutes  and  calmed 
down. 


300     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

Then  he  told  his  wife  to  fetch  out  "The 
Book  "  from  a  hole  in  the  wall.  She  brought  out 
a  big  bundle,  wrapped  in  the  tail  of  a  petticoat, 
of  old  sheets  of  miscellaneous  note-paper,  all 
numbered  and  covered  with  fine  cramped  writ- 
ing. Mclntosh  plowed  his  hand  through  the 
rubbish  and  stirred  it  up  lovingly. 

"  This,"  he  said,  "  is  my  work — the  Book  of 
Mclntosh  Jellaludin,  showing  what  he  saw  and 
how  he  lived,  and  what  befell  him  and  others  ; 
being  also  an  account  of  the  life  and  sins  and 
death  of  Mother  Maturin.  What  Mirza  Murad 
Ali  Beg's  book  is  to  all  other  books  on  native  life, 
will  my  work  be  to  Mirza  Murad  Ali  Beg's  ! " 

This,  as  will  be  conceded  by  any  one  who 
knows  Mirza  Murad  Ali  Beg's  book,  was  a  sweep- 
ing statement.  The  papers  did  not  look  specially 
valuable  ;  but  Mclntosh  handled  them  as  if  they 
were  currency  notes.  Then  said  he  slowly  : — 

"  In  despite  the  many  weaknesses  of  your 
education,  you  have  been  good  to  me.  I  will 
speak  of  your  tobacco  when  I  reach  the  Gods.  I 
owe  you  much  thanks  for  many  kindnesses.  But 
I  abominate  indebtedness.  For  this  reason  I 
bequeath  to  you  now  the  monument  more  en- 
during than  brass — my  one  book — rude  and  im- 
perfect in  parts,  but  oh,  how  rare  in  others  !  I 
wonder  if  you  will  understand  it.  It  is  a  gift 
more  honorable  than  .  .  .  Bah  !  where  is  my 
brain  rambling  to  ?  You  will  mutilate  it  hor- 
ribly. You  will  knock  out  the  gems  you  call 
•  Latin  quotations,' you  Philistine,  and  you  will 
butcher  the  style  to  carve  into  your  own  jerky 
jargon  ;  but  you  cannot  destroy  the  whole  of  it. 
I  bequeath  it  to  you.  Ethel  .  .  .  My  brain 
again  !  .  .  Mrs.  Mclntosh,  bear  witness  that  I 


To  be  Filed  for  Reference     301 

gave  the  Sahib  all  these  papers.  They  would  be 
of  no  use  to  you,  Heart  of  my  Heart ;  and  I  lay 
it  upon  y  HI,"  he  turned  to  me  here,  "  that  you  do 
not  let  my  book  die  in  its  present  form.  It  is 
yours  unconditionally — the  story  of  Mclntosh 
Jellaludin,  which  is  not  the  story  of  Mclntosh 
Jellaludin,  but  of  a  greater  man  than  he,  and 
of  a  far  greater  woman.  Listen  now  !  1  am 
neither  mad  nor  drunk  !  That  book  will  make 
you  famous." 

1  said,  "  thank  you,"  as  the  native  woman  put 
the  bundle  into  my  arms. 

"  My  only  baby  !  "  said  Mclntosh  with  a  smile. 
He  was  sinking  fast,  but  he  continued  to  talk  as 
long  as  breath  remained.  I  waited  for  the  end  : 
knowing  that,  in  six  cases  out  of  ten  the  dying 
man  calls  for  his  mother.  He  turned  on  his 
side  and  said  :  — 

"Say  how  it  came  into  your  possession.  No 
one  will  believe  you,  but  my  name,  at  least,  will 
live.  You  will  treat  it  brutally,  I  know  you  will. 
Some  of  it  must  go  ;  the  public  are  fools  and 
prudish  fools.  I  was  their  servant  once.  But  do 
your  mangling  gently — very  gently.  It  is  a 
great  work,  and  1  have  paid  for  it  in  seven  years' 
damnation." 

His  voice  stopped  for  ten  or  twelve  breaths, 
and  then  he  began  mumbling  a  prayer  of  some 
kind  in  Greek.  The  native  woman  cried  very 
bitterly.  Lastly,  he  rose  in  bed  and  said,  as 
loudly  as  slowly  : — "  Not  guilty,  my  Lord  !  " 

Then  he  fell  back,  and  the  stupor  held  him  till 
he  died.  The  native  woman  ran  into  the  Serai 
among  the  horses  and  screamed  and  beat  her 
breasts  ;  for  she  had  loved  him. 

Perhaps  his  last  sentence  in  life  told  what  Mo- 


302     Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills 

Intosh  had  once  gone  through  ;  but,  saving  the 
big  bundle  of  old  sheets  in  the  cloth,  there  was 
nothing  in  his  room  to  say  who  or  what  he  had 
been. 

The  papers  were  in  a  hopeless  muddle. 

Strickland  helped  me  to  sort  them,  and  he  said 
that  the  writer  was  either  an  extreme  liar  or  a 
most  wonderful  person.  He  thought  the  former. 
One  of  these  days,  you  may  be  able  to  judge  for 
yourselves.  The  bundle  needed  much  expurga- 
tion and  was  full  of  Greek  nonsense,  at  the  head 
of  the  chapters,  which  has  all  been  cut  out. 

If  the  thing  is  ever  published,  some  one  may 
perhaps  remember  this  story,  now  printed  as  a 
safeguard  to  prove  that  Mclntosh  Jellaludin  and 
not  I  myself  wrote  the  Book  of  Mother  Maturin. 

I  don't  want  the  Giant's  Robe  to  come  true  in 
my  case. 

THE  END. 


««  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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